


Dog Days

by littleboxesofstars



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: (like....barely), (oh my god they were roommates), (the whole point of this fic is Richie Gets A Dog), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, Eventual Romance, Explicit Language, F/M, M/M, Richie is a pining idiot, Slow Burn, Smoking, Underage Drinking, slight mentions of animal abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-05-29 04:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 36,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15064736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleboxesofstars/pseuds/littleboxesofstars
Summary: Richie Tozier is twenty years old, over halfway through a Chemistry degree at the University of Maine, and in love with his best friend and roommate, Stanley Uris. And he figures that it's fine, with no cause for change, until he finds an injured puppy near his apartment.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This fic was written for the IT Big Bang, but the exchange sort of fell through. Which kinda sucks, but on the bright side I get to post this fic now, which I'm super excited for! I had a ton of fun writing it. Additional warnings for this chapter are: very vague description of a dead animal, slight bashing of John Steinbeck (I loved his book East of Eden, but stand by everything said about Grapes of Wrath lol), and mentions of Brooklyn 99! Also posted to my tumblr @trash-the-tozier

"Oh, here." Richie pulled Stan's phone from his hands, who let out a dissenting breath from his nose, but didn't attempt to stop him. "Beverly just sent me the mix she made. I'll put it on while we study."

"What's it called?" 

"Uh..." Richie plugged Stan's phone into the speakers he'd left on the coffee table, opening up Spotify. Beverly's playlists usually had hilarious names long enough to rival Fall Out Boy themselves, but this one was unexpected. "It just says 'idiots'. No capitalization." 

"Sweet, isn't she?" Stan asked, amused, pulling a notebook and a pencil from his backpack, tucking the writing utensil behind his ear so he could use both hands to pick up his Statistics textbook. That thing was heavy, Richie knew; Stan had dropped it on his head once. He frowned, scrolling through the tracklist. 

"These songs are weird."

"Yeah?" Stan slid the textbook to the edge of his knees, beginning to open it. 

"Yeah." Richie frowned, reading out the first song. "This Guy's In Love With You."

Stan dropped his book on his foot, cursing loudly as Richie laughed.

"...excuse me?" He finally asked.

"Do you know that song?" Richie asked back, instead of repeating himself. "It came out in 1968! Justify My Love? What is all this stuff?"

"Isn't Justify My Love that really risque Madonna song?" Stan asked, and Richie gave an incredulous little laugh, pressing play on the playlist and laying back against the couch. He nudged Stan lightly with his elbow.

"You're so gay, Stanley." 

"Right." Stan raised an amused eyebrow, nudging Richie back. "You kissed four different guys at a party last week, and I'm the gay one." 

"That was just for spin the bottle! Besides, I didn't say I wasn't the other gay one." 

Stan rolled his eyes, turning to his Statistics homework. Richie was supposed to be working on an English essay but he felt painfully distracted, staring at his laptop screen every couple of minutes before picking up his phone. Justify My Love was, in fact, an incredibly risque Madonna song, and Richie ended up leaning forwards and skipping it because Stan was turning so red that Richie worried he might explode. Thankfully, Richie knew the next song inside and out. 

"Def Leppard!" He exclaimed, as the opening guitar notes from the iconic 'Pour Some Sugar On Me' began. Stan glanced over at him.

"Don't pretend you're some classic rock fan." He said. Richie opened his mouth in offense. 

"But I am!"

Stan tried to go back to his books but Richie interrupted almost immediately, splaying himself across Stan's lap and singing along in a terrible, dramatic voice, his face screwed up in a way he probably thought was 'punk rock'. 

"I'm hot, sticky sweet! From my head, to my feet."

Stan glanced down at him, pursing his lips, but he did look amused.

"You're not hot, Richie. Especially if you're sticky." 

Richie pouted at him.

"But I'm sweet!"

"...right." 

A huge grin spread across Richie's face, catching Stan's eye and sticking his tongue out. 

"Why don't you give me a taste and find out?" 

Richie expected an eye roll, already imagining the dramatic position he wanted to land in on the floor when Stan inevitably shoved him off his lap. Instead Stan leaned in close, a nervous jolt racing up Richie's chest when his eyes began to close. His lips were mere centimeters away, Richie's heart hammering, when Stan stopped.

"Shut up, Richie." He murmured. And then he shoved Richie off his lap, but Richie was caught so off guard that he didn't manage to stick his landing, letting out in undignified yelp as he hit the coffee table on his way down. That had Stan laughing, laughing so hard that he leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, and in spite of the dull throb Richie now felt in his shoulder, he had to grin. He crawled back up onto the couch, staring hard at his computer screen, trying to use the assignment as a distraction to get his heart rate back to normal. He got about a paragraph of something barely intelligible written, his fingers freezing when he heard Stan murmur a curse under his breath. Richie wasn't sure if he should say something or not, but it quickly became too much to handle.

"Fuck!" Stan finally growled, Richie trying to ignore the way his breath hitched and be a sympathetic friend instead. He'd been doing that a lot lately, when it came to Stanley. 

"What?"

"I've tried this problem three times." Stan said in frustration, stabbing at the paper with his pencil tip. "And I've gotten a different wrong answer all three times. I swear I'm using the formula correctly, but..." 

Richie leaned over Stan's lap, glancing over his work. He pointed at the third step of his most recent attempt.

"There. You forgot to carry the one." 

"Carry the one?" Stan asked in slight disbelief, and when he realized Richie was right, he let out a groan and collapsed onto Richie's shoulder in defeat. 

"I hate it when you make me feel stupid." Stan mumbled, his voice slightly muffled.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Because you're stupid." 

In spite of himself, Richie chuckled. 

"Why are you majoring in Accounting if you suck at math?" Richie asked. "You're so much better at other stuff." 

Stan sighed, pulling himself upright. He turned back to his homework, twirling his pencil between his fingers. Richie watched his hands.

"A stable job, Richie."

"A stable job? In this economy?" The question was more of a joke than anything, and thankfully Stan laughed. Richie got to his feet, his shoes already on by the time Stan spoke up.

"Isn't that essay due by midnight tonight?" 

"Yeah. I'll get it done." Richie waved a dismissive hand. "I can't focus right now, anyway."

"Going on a walk?" Stan asked, but it wasn't really a question, the answer already obvious. Richie took walks off campus when he needed to de-stress, or exhaust himself enough to get his brain to calm down and focus on an uninteresting task. This essay definitely qualified as uninteresting. Richie nodded. 

"I'll probably be at work then, when you get back." Stan told him, Richie nodding a little when he realized Stan was right. 

"Good luck during your shift! Don't die, or whatever." Richie said, pulling on a jacket. He took his cell phone from his pocket, showing it to Stan. "Feel free to text me if you want." 

Stan nodded, Richie giving him a salute, checking his pocket for his keys and his cigarettes before stepping out the door. He kept his phone in his hand, and when he'd made it down the apartment complex steps, he called Beverly's number.

"Hey, punk." She greeted, and he grinned. "What's up?"

"Not much. Just on a walk."

"And you missed the sound of my voice?" 

"C'mon sis. I always miss you." Richie told her, and she laughed a little. 

"Ben and I live on the other side of campus. You can come over any time, you know that. I gave you a key to our apartment for a reason."

"Yeah yeah, I know." Richie held his phone to his ear with his shoulder, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up. "Bev, about that playlist..." 

"Did you like it? Did you and Stan make out or something?"

"That's what that was about?" He asked, amused by the excitement in her voice. “I threw myself in his lap, and but he didn't go for it.” 

“Oh, damn.”

Richie laughed. “C’mon Beverly, how many times do I have to tell you that I don’t like Stan?” 

“You can’t fool me, Richie.” She sounded slightly reprimanding. “You want him to stick his tongue in your mouth so badly it’s insane.”

“No!” Richie insisted. “I don’t. I don’t like Stan, and I have to keep telling myself that. I have to, because if I don’t then I will definitely kiss him, and it will definitely ruin everything.”

The line was silent for a few moments, Richie watching his feet as he walked. He veered off the sidewalk and the pavement turned to drying grass underfoot, taking himself in the direct opposite direction of campus and towards a distant patch of trees. 

“It might not, you know.” Beverly said quietly. “Ruin everything, I mean.”

“Yeah, but it could. We’re roommates, and we’re friends, and that has to be good enough for me.” 

Richie heard Ben’s voice in the background, sounding like he was asking some sort of question, and decided he didn’t want to interrupt their afternoon any further. 

“I’ve gotta go, alright? I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Rich--”

“Bye Bev!” Richie hung up before Beverly could protest, slipping his cell phone into his pocket and taking a long drag on his cigarette. He appreciated Beverly trying to help him in her own, playful way, but he needed to be deterred from kissing Stan, not encouraged. Beverly just didn’t understand the complications of love, Richie supposed. She’d met her Prince Charming when they were all thirteen, and while the two of them had taken a while to get together, they’d always liked each other. It hadn’t been that way with Stan. 

Richie had thought for years that Stan didn't like him at all. Stan tolerated him, maybe, but didn’t prefer his company. They never hung out one-on-one. Stan was transparent about Bill being his Loser of choice, always next to him, always close to him. Stan liked Eddie too though, connecting with him over things like calling Richie an idiot, or being clean and neat (though Richie knew that truly Stan was the neat one; Eddie was a germaphobe, sure, but he was still a chaotic teenage boy with a unorganized room and backpack full of loose papers. Stan grew up creating alphabetized binders of bird polaroids.)

Richie made an effort, though. When he learned that Stan wore that little circle thing on his head because he was Jewish--and that Jewish people spoke a different language, which was so cool--he studied up to make puns in Hebrew, made probably too many jokes about birds, and learned that poking Stan on the cheek made him blush. Despite all this though, they didn’t hang out independent of the others when they were fifteen, and the rest of the Losers (a group which now included Mike, Ben, and Beverly Marsh) weren’t able to make Richie’s impromptu sleepover. The two of them had stayed up until nearly four in the morning, half watching the Die Hard movies and half talking about nothing and everything all at once. Stan confided in Richie that night that he was gay, not telling him until later that he was the first person he’d come out to.

“Do you like me?” Richie had asked, almost immediately after. He didn’t realize the terrible timing of his question until Stan had turned red and punched him in the shoulder. 

“I didn’t mean it like that! I mean… I meant as friends.” 

Stan looked incredibly surprised.

“Of course I do. I always have.”

“...oh.”

Richie’s cigarette burnt itself out between his fingers, a cold gust of wind bringing him back to the present. It was chilly for March, even by Maine standards, Richie bringing his jacket in closer around himself, fumbling with the zipper. He closed the jacket up to his chin, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn't remember when his crush on Stan had developed, if he was being honest. Stan was just… Different. Different from all the other Losers. Different from anyone else Richie had ever known. 

If Richie was in the mood to go out and save the world, he went to Bill. If Richie wanted to recline on a couch and laugh his ass off, he went to Mike. But Stan made him feel balanced. He was just deadpan enough to take in Richie's chaotic energy, just sarcastic enough to be amused when Richie made a joke, but still bite back with a retort of his own. Stan made him feel happy, made him feel  _ right. _ He couldn't explain it, really, but he knew it was a feeling he couldn't lose, and if all he could be to feel like that was Stan's friend, then so be it. Friend could be agonizing at times, but it was infinitely better than nothing at all.

The sound of rushing water registered in Richie's ears a second before his shoe landed in the creek. He cursed and jumped back, losing his footing and pinwheeling his arms in a desperate attempt not to fall entirely into the water. The creek was a familiar route in his walks, the body of water a full mile from campus, and Richie turned to follow along the bank. He kept a safe distance, stepping carefully. He already had one soggy shoe; he didn't need another. 

Richie forced his mind to focus as he lit a second cigarette, trying to stop daydreaming about Stan and start planning out his essay, which was much less enjoyable, but much more productive. He didn't know why he needed a literature class, being a Chemistry major and all, but he had to take it, so he was at least going to try to pass. Good grades would help him keep his scholarships, and he needed those; his job at the pizza place he and Stan worked at was barely enough to cover his share of the rent for their tiny apartment.

There was a dark pack of birds up ahead. They looked large, all having landed by the creek bed, huddled close together. Richie had to get a little closer to them to see what kind of birds they were, but once he did, they were easy to identify. Vultures. A group of them, with their wide, dark wings and ugly bald heads. Richie didn’t realize until too late what a committee of vultures must mean, the unmistakable stench of rotting meat hitting him full in the face only a few paces later. He staggered back, his face scrunching instinctively, trying not to gag. But curiosity got the better of him, approaching slowly, wanting to see what it was the vultures were all crowded around. 

He couldn’t tell what animal the carcass used to be. It was decomposed, waterlogged, and in the process of being ripped apart, but he still squinted at it in confusion. The bits of fur that remained were fuzzy, dark brown and black, the creature roughly the size of a dodgeball. A rabbit, he supposed. Something like that. It was too round to be a cat, and too dark to be a raccoon, and he couldn’t think of any other animal that would find its way to the creek to drown. Feeling unsettled, and unwilling to get between a pack of vultures and their prey, Richie turned tail and headed back home.

As he said he would be, Stan was gone to work by the time Richie returned. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks, both feet freezing--though the wet one much more so--tucking them under his body as he pulled his laptop into his lap. He'd left it open with the screen on, and there was a little message at the bottom of his essay that Richie realized must be from Stan. 

_ Man, you have to analyze Grapes of Wrath? Sucks to suck, that book is terrible. I’m like 99.9% sure you didn’t read it, seeing as I never saw you holding it, so make sure to talk about the multiplying effects of selfishness and altruism, and the symbolism of the dead dog. You’re welcome. And also... good luck! c; _

Richie couldn’t stop smiling and he didn’t even care, taking a picture of the message with his phone, and attaching it in a text to Stan.

_ To: S(a)tan  
_ _ You flirty little bastard _

_ From: S(a)tan  
_ _ ;) _

_ To: S(a)tan  
_ _ ;D _

_ From: S(a)tan  
_ _ If you send me the eggplant emoji I will block you istg. _

Richie bit his lip to try to stop grinning but it was futile, leaning back on the couch. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
_ _ What’s wrong with a harmless vegetable? I hear they’re quite NUTritious _

He could almost hear the eye roll.

_ From: S(a)tan  
_ _ I hate you. Also, since you’re only looking at theme and motif for that essay, you probably don’t have to mention that part in the book where the teenage girl breastfeeds the dying old man in a barn _

_ To: S(a)tan  
_ _ Excuse me the WHAT _

_ From: S(a)tan  
_ _ I told you the book was terrible. But you have an essay to write. I’m not texting you back until it’s done.  _

_ To: S(a)tan  
_ _ But stanleyyyyyyyyyyyyyy _

Richie didn’t get a response. He sent a few more whiny messages (and even the eggplant emoji for good measure) but true to his word, Stan didn’t text him. So Richie turned to Beverly instead.

_ To: Lavagirl  
_ _ Bevvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv im lonely and bored _

_ From: Lavagirl  
_ _ What, your other half went to work?  _

_ To: Lavagirl  
_ _ ***Stan. My Stan went to work. And I have a stupid essay to write _

_ From: Lavagirl  
_ _ I know. He told me. He also told me not to text you until you finish it. Bye! _

“Fucking Stanley.” Richie grumbled, when after a few attempts, Beverly didn’t respond either. Out of distractions, Richie stared down the word document for a few moments, sighed, and got to work. But Stan didn’t text him back even after he’d finished and submitted the paper, so Richie assumed he was simply busy, taking Beverly up on her offer from earlier and making the trek to her and Ben’s apartment, picking up a pizza on the way.

He knocked when he arrived--he’d walked in on too many compromising situations not to knock at their door--beaming brightly when Ben answered. 

“I didn't want to only invite myself over, so I invited myself and a pizza.” He explained, Ben laughing a little as he stepped back to let Richie in.  

“I was literally just about to text you.” Beverly said when she saw him, getting up from the couch in greeting, her cell phone extended in his direction. Sure enough, an in-progress message  _ To: Sharkboy  _ shone on the screen. “You got that Steinbeck essay finished?”

“Yep!” Richie set the box of pizza down on the small table in the kitchen. “Didn't read the book and submitted the first draft without revising it, just like my momma taught me.” 

Beverly slapped him a high five, while Ben looked disapproving. Richie caught the expression. 

“C’mon, Ben! It was Grapes of Wrath. That book is terrible. It doesn't deserve a good essay.”

“How do you know it's terrible? You just said you didn't read it.”

“I was told that it was bad by one very reliable source, thank you.” 

“But it's Steinbeck!” Ben sat down at the table next to him. “He’s an award winning author. The way he puts prose together--”

“Steinbeck is a dweeb.” Richie said flippantly. Then, when Ben opened his mouth to protest, he continued. “And so are you, Ben.” 

“Yeah, but he's my dweeb.” Beverly interjected, walking up behind Ben to come to the table. Ben looked back at her.

“You think I'm a dweeb?” He asked, Beverly grinning and looping her arms around his shoulders, kissing his cheek. He turned pink and the conversation was effectively closed, Richie grinning and moving to open the pizza box. 

“We already ate.” Beverly interrupted. “Ben made dinner. It’s just chicken and pasta, but you can have some if you--” 

“Thank god.” Richie closed the box again, getting up with it in hand and walking to the trash can. After working at a place that made pizza, he didn't enjoy the pseudo-Italian food as much as he used to. He would still eat it if there was no alternative though, unlike Stan, who would rather starve. “I really--” 

“Woah, hey! What are you doing?” Beverly intercepted his path, taking the pizza box from him. “Not everyone here works at a pizza place. I still enjoy eating one of the greatest food inventions of the century.”

“Good for you then.” Richie helped himself to the aforementioned leftovers, the healthy food causing him to frown and turn back. He’d just remembered something, how Ben had slowly but surely been slimming himself down. “Wait, are you sure you want that, though? Isn't there some diet thing you guys are doing?”

“It's not a diet.” Ben said quickly. “It's just… I'm just making my own food, instead of eating that processed, high sodium crap I was fed all the time when I lived at home.” 

“Well, it's working for you, buddy.” Richie put the plate in the microwave, turning to give Ben a wink. “You're looking good.” 

“He's getting really good at cooking, too.” Beverly said in excitement, sliding the pizza box into the fridge. All of the praise had Ben's face slightly pink again. “That is the best way to a person's heart, you know.” 

“I've heard that between the fourth and fifth rib is a pretty good way, too.” 

Ben frowned at his pessimism, Richie sitting down. Beverly sat down across from him.

“You're just jealous because you don't have a dweeb.” She declared.

“Stan isn't a dweeb.” Richie said quickly. A grin grew on Beverly face.

“I didn't say anything about Stan.” 

“Sure, but you were thinking it, and he was thinking it--” Richie pointed his fork at Ben with a sigh-- “and I was thinking it, so…”

“Why don't you just tell him?” Ben asked. “What's the worst that could happen?”

Richie stroked an invisible beard, pretending to think. 

“Let's see. I confess my feelings--probably by kissing him because let's face it, I'm hopelessly in love and rash action is very much my style--and he's so freaked out by his roommate having a big gay crush on him that he changes his name, moves to Yemen, and I never see him again.” 

“Don't give yourself so much credit. You're not so bad of a kisser that it drives people to move to another country.” 

“Bev, I kissed Cynthia Anderson in ninth grade, and a week later she moved to Canada.”

“That was a coincidence!” Beverly exclaimed, as Ben laughed. “Just be charming! You could… I don't know, write him cute notes or something.”

Richie rolled his eyes.

“I'm not Ben.” 

“Hey, it worked.” Ben pointed out, Beverly nodding.

“If I leave him love notes like Ben did, then he'll probably just think the notes are from Bill, like Beverly did!” Richie pointed out. He frowned. “Bill is cool. Stan would probably go out with Bill.” 

The following silence lasted a little longer than Richie liked, neither one of them rushing to his defense.

“C’mon, guys!”

“You won't know until you try, and that's all I'm going to say.” Beverly said. “Speaking of Bill though, I talked to him today. We talked about possible tourist stops for The Road Trip.”

“Oh, tell me.” Richie said excitedly, stuffing a bite of chicken in his mouth in preparation to listen without interrupting. The Road Trip was a dream hatched up by Mike, an idea to get a van after graduation and drive around the country, fueled purely by nothing more than the desire to get the hell out of Maine. None of the Losers, aside from Ben and Eddie, had ever left the state before. But Ben had simply moved in from a different state in middle school, and Eddie was out of the state now, at a pharmacology school in New York with his tuition, housing, and meal plan all controlled by his mother's money. He claimed to like the freedom of the city, though. 

They spent the next couple of hours brainstorming about things they could do, and places they could go. Most of it was simply amusing and unrealistic (in truth, the whole trip was unrealistic, but they tried not to think about that) Richie in the middle of explaining just how they would get away with stealing the world's largest boot out of Minnesota when his phone began to ring. It was Stan.

“King Stanrick the Third!” He answered grandly, putting on a rather bad British accent. “How was your shift at the pizza palace?”

“Monotonous.” Stan answered. “You finished that essay, then?”

“All done with time to spare, thanks to you!” Richie told him. 

“Yeah, you're welcome. Hey, have you had dinner yet?” 

“Yeah.” Richie said apologetically. “Ben and Beverly took pity on me and gave me their table scraps.”

Ben looked a bit disgruntled at his home cooked meal being called table scraps. 

“That's awesome, actually.” There was a smile in Stan's voice now. “I am craving sushi, and now I can get some without you complaining.”

“You disgust me.” Sushi was about as abhorrent as asparagus, which Richie lovingly referred to as 'the green stalks from hell’. Stan laughed.

“Anything we need from the store while I'm out?” He asked. Richie thought for a moment.

“We are out of ice cream.” He said. The line was quiet for a moment, Richie able to hear the background noise of the road as Stan drove.

“...anything  _ essential _ we need from the store?” Stan tried again.

“Ice cream is essential, Stanley! It shaped me into the man I am today!”

“Really? Then maybe you should never eat it again.” 

“Fuck off.”

Stan laughed again, a quieter and more private kind of laugh that had Richie grinning, holding the phone a bit closer to his ear.

“Alright.” Stan allotted. “We're broke as hell, but I'll see what I can do.”

“See you soon?”

“Yeah.”

Then Stan hung up, Richie slowly lowering his phone. He'd all but forgotten about his friends, and Bev had a shit-eating grin on her face.

“Oh, fuck both of you.” He said, the words made infinitely less menacing by the light blush on his cheeks. “Also, thank you for having me over, the food was delicious, I love you both so so much, and I'm going home.” 

He said it all quickly, rushing around the table to give both Ben and Beverly tight hugs, then made his way out the door. Richie showered and put on comfy clothes, and about thirty minutes later Stan was home, a half-eaten roll of sushi in one hand and a small grocery bag in the other. 

“Hey.” He greeted, but Richie made a show of scrunching his nose up. 

“You smell like raw fish.” He said. He couldn’t actually smell the sushi, but knowing it was there was bad enough. Stan rolled his eyes.

“No I don't. I smell like pizza grease, and I need a shower.”

Stan was right, and soon disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged he was clean and warm, soft in a loose t-shirt and old pajama pants as he sat next to Richie on the couch, his curly hair a little damp and slightly frizzed from drying. 

“Well Stanley, it's nearly nine-thirty on a Sunday evening. Ready to get crazy?” Richie asked.

“Crazy. Right.” Stan gave him an amused look. “I have class tomorrow, so no. And you have work.”

“I do?” Richie didn't remember being put on the schedule. Stan nodded.

“The manager asked me if you were free to cover an opening shift tomorrow, and I said yes, because you are.”

“Opening shift? Those are so early though!”

“Ten-thirty is not early, Rich. Just because you only have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays doesn't mean you can spend Monday doing nothing.”

“I'm pretty sure that's exactly what it means, actually.” Richie countered. “Real talk though, anything you want to do?”

Stan thought for a moment.

“I still am only on season three of Brooklyn Nine-Nine.” He said, and Richie gasped. 

“Yes, that, we’re doing that right now.” He quickly pulled up a streaming site on his computer--prompting a “we really need a TV” comment from Stan--hurrying off to get his laptop's charger cord. When he returned Stan was holding a half pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and two spoons.

“You said you wanted ice cream. Want to share?” He offered, and Richie felt his heart melt into a puddle of goo on the floor. The episode started and they settled in in front of the computer screen, Richie remembering something almost at once. He pointed his spoon at Stanley in excitement.

“Stan! Can I spoil something from season five?” 

“What? No.” 

“It’s really important! Please? Please?” Richie repeated the word eleven more times, and finally Stan relented. 

“Fine! What is it?” 

“Rosa is bi! She’s bisexual.”

“Oh.” Stan smiled. “Cool.”

“Yep.” Richie winked. “Me and Rosa Diaz, two badass bisexuals.”

Stan laughed, shaking his head.

“No, you cannot compare yourself to Rosa. You’re more of a Scully than a Rosa.”

“Hey!” Richie protested, eventually convincing Stan that he was much more like Jake, the show’s main protagonist. After some hilarious back and forth Stan was likened to Amy, the character Jake just happened to be in a relationship with. If Stan noticed the comparison he didn't let on, and Richie sure as hell wasn't going to say anything about it.

“That was fun, but let’s not do the other Losers.” Stan requested.

“Oh! That Was Fun But Let’s Not Do The Other Losers: title of your sex tape.” Richie exclaimed, knocking his spoon against Stan’s. Stan laughed at the reference, leaning back into the couch cushions and resting his head on Richie’s shoulder. Richie’s breath caught in his throat, and he tried to slowly ease into the contact, Stan staying cuddled close to him for the entirety of the episode, even after the ice cream ran out. This was Richie’s third rewatch of the comedy, but for those thirty minutes, he couldn’t have said a single thing the episode was about.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! Just as a warning, this chapter has the most of the injured animal stuff in it, but it's uphill for the pup from here, so don't worry too much! Thank you all so much for reading ♡

Usually on Mondays, especially in the mornings, pizza places were dead. Richie was expecting to be mind-numbingly bored, cleaning things that didn’t actually need to be cleaned and chatting with the few of his coworkers that didn’t find him too annoying.

Instead, they got bombarded with an incredibly large pizza party order that left them all scrambling for hours. Richie left work at nearly three in the afternoon, not feeling sorry at all for the coworker that came to fill his place, too desperate to be out of there.

_To: S(a)tan_   
_WOW work sucked_

_From: S(a)tan_   
_You made money, how terrible could it be?_

_To: S(a)tan_   
_NOT WORTH IT_

_From: S(a)tan_   
_Sorry Rich. I’ll never sign you up for extra shifts ever again_   
_That's a lie I totally will_   
_Also igtg class is starting with that old professor thats all grouchy and hurrdurr technology_

Richie ate and watched some old episodes of The Office as soon as he got home, but he couldn't get the frenetic feeling of his work shift from his skin, pulling on boots and a jacket and heading outside. The cool air was calming instead of cold, Richie making his way down to the creek again, a cigarette between his lips.

He saw the blood first. The water was awash with red and he frowned, peering at it, confused by the color but unwilling to touch anything. He stopped, looking up the creek, and in the distance saw the vultures again, circling in the air, a few of them beginning to touch down and hop around. And again, he was too curious to stay away, walking up. It was morbid curiosity, he knew, the fresh blood meaning the animal must be newly dead. Maybe he could tell what kind of creature it was this time.

This animal looked almost identical to the one from yesterday, covered in dark brown and black fur, and very fluffy. A vulture hopped close to peck at it and it yelped, Richie realizing with a sickening jolt that whatever the mass of fur lying in the creek was, it was still alive. It began to whine and Richie recognized the sound, the bottom dropping out of his stomach. It was a puppy.

More vultures had begun to touch down. Looking around frantically, Richie spotted a long stick a few paces to his left, picking it up and trying to swat the birds away. He crouched in the creek next to the dog, trying to figure out where its head or legs were so he could pick it up. The animal made a strangled yelp when he lifted it but he cradled it like a baby, the drenched fur heavy, and started back to the apartment at a run. He was at the foot of the stairs when he stopped, pulling his phone from his pocket and calling Stan.

His first two attempts were ignored, Stan finally answering on the third. His voice was hushed and angry.

“Richie, I am in class, you--”

“Stan, I need you to drive me to the hospital.” Richie interrupted, the words coming out in a tumbled rush. The puppy was exhaling in whines, the sound weak and painful to listen to.

“Are you okay?”

“There--there’s blood, I don’t…” Panic was clawing its way up Richie’s throat, finding himself too shaken to speak in full sentences. “Please.”

“Fuck, I’ll be right there. Hold on, dammit.” There was a bit of a scrambling sound and Stan hung up, Richie turning his full attention to the animal in his arms, sitting down and trying to see what was wrong. The dog was a little larger than a basketball but very obviously still a puppy, with large paws and flopped down ears. It was curled in on itself in his arms, its back leg snapped and jutting out at an awkward angle, the injury crusted over in dark, dried blood. That wasn’t the area that was still bleeding though; he still couldn’t find the source.

Stan pulled up with a screech, his eyes wild with concern. He was halfway out of the car when Richie began walking up.

“Richie! Are you okay?”

“Me?” Stan's face was frantic and scared, and Richie realized for the first time how his words over the phone must have sounded. “I… I'm fine, but…” He swallowed hard, feeling a lump growing in his throat as he felt how shallow the puppy’s breathing had become. “This dog needs help.”

Stan let out a large breath of air, his eyes falling closed for a moment. Then he looked over Richie again, wide-eyed and scared with the limp puppy in his lap. His face set in determination, the expression furrowing his eyebrows and drawing the corners of his lips together. He started up his car again, backing clumsily out of the parking lot as he handed his phone over to Richie.

“Find a route to an animal ER.” He said, and Richie did. It would be a fifteen minute drive, but Stan was doing the epitome of speeding, racing down streets. Richie was still searching over the dog’s body, trying to find the source of the bleeding, his hands going into the puppy’s fur and coming back slick with blood. He let his hand trail over the puppy’s head, getting a loud yelp in response, and he recoiled quickly.

“Its head, Stan.” His stomach twisted as he examined the puppy’s face, the entire right side drenched in red, the eye on that side covered by a mat of dark fur all clumped together. He was afraid to touch it. “Stan, Stan, the dog is bleeding from its head.”

“It’s going to be okay.” Stan said, his eyes set on the road, the words sounding as though they came through clenched teeth. As they pulled into the parking lot of the animal hospital the puppy fell silent, and the silence was even scarier than the whines, Richie unable to scramble from the car fast enough. There were a pair of receptionists behind the front desk, each on their respective computers, one of them helping a lady with a cat carrier by her feet.

“Help.” Was all Richie managed out, the receptionist taking them in for just a moment before getting from her chair, hurrying through a doorway to a back room. Two people in scrubs came out a moment later, beckoning Richie and Stan after them. The puppy was taken from Richie’s arms by one of the veterinary technicians, the other leading them to a small examination room with a “3” on the door. She asked them a number of questions, Richie telling the story of how he had found the dog. She nodded as he talked, jotting down some things, then told them to please wait right there, leaving.

It was almost worse, being left alone in the examination room. Richie’s worry rang in his ears, his hands clenching and unclenching. Stan was frowning at his phone, but as Richie watched he typed something out and powered the device down, putting it in his pocket. He met Richie’s eyes.

“It’s going to be okay.” He said again, much more consoling this time. He glanced around the room, Richie following his gaze. “Here, wash yourself off.” He pointed to a small sink in the corner, Richie nodding. It would be good to get the blood off his hands.

“Better?” Stan asked, once he was clean and dry. And it was better, just a little, but there was still blood on his shirt, cold now and causing the fabric to stick to his stomach. Richie began to pace, his anxiety threatening to overflow, his legs moving on their own.

“Richie.” Stan grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Calm down.”

“Stan, I--”

“Sit.”

Richie wasn’t sure that he could, but Stan dragged him over to the set of plastic chairs in the corner. He sat down in one and Richie followed suit, and the next thing he knew Stan was wrapping an arm around him, pulling Richie’s head onto his shoulder, running his fingers gently through Richie’s hair.

“It’s going to be okay.”

The touch was soft and comforting, Richie leaning into it, letting out a long, shaking breath. He felt on the verge of tears.

“You did everything you could.” Stan continued. “It’s getting the help that it needs. There’s nothing else you can do.”

“But what if it dies?” Richie asked, his voice high and fast. “What if--”

“Try not to worry about that.” Stan cut him off before he could begin to spiral, running his fingers through his hair again. Richie let out a long breath, trying to relax, trying to focus on anything but the sick fear in his chest. The playing with his hair was a welcome distraction, the panic ebbing into a dull sensation of nausea by the time Richie opened his eyes again. He felt a rush of affection and gratitude towards Stan.

“Sorry… Sorry for pulling you out of class. And scaring you like that.”

“It’s alright.” Stan’s voice was quiet.

“Thank you for… For this. For everything.” Richie could feel a lump rising up in his throat. “You’re the best person in the world.”

“I…” Stan’s fingers stopped moving. “Rich--”

He was cut off by the door opening, the vet technician that had talked to them earlier reentering the room. She looked grim, Richie jumping to his feet.

“She is alive.” She said quickly, upon looking at his face. “She’d stopped breathing by the time we got her into the treatment area, but the doctor was able to resuscitate her. She’s hooked up to oxygen now and her breathing has stabilized.”

“She.” Richie repeated quietly, and the vet tech nodded.

“Yes, she. You have a little girl.”

“What's wrong with her?” Richie had to ask. He knew there were probably better ways to phrase the question but he was impatient and worried, the technician sighing slightly.

“Well, her leg is broken, as I'm sure you noticed.” She began, and Richie nodded. “The injury looks like it was inflicted by a larger animal, like another dog perhaps. It seems to be a few days old. The injury to her head is obviously more recent, and looks to have been done by a blunt object. Like she was hit with something heavy.”

Shock fell into Richie's stomach like a block of ice.

“Someone hit her?” He asked. This puppy was hit in the face so hard she was bleeding profusely, then left in a creek with her leg broken. “Do you think someone tried to kill her?”

“It's possible.” The technician allotted. “Unfortunately, due to the trauma done to the right side of her face, her right eye has been severely damaged. The doctor believes that the best course of action would be to remove it. She'll be needing enucleation surgery, as well as any procedures necessary to put the leg back in place, and medications for recovery from those things.”

“Oh.” Richie said softly, slightly stunned. “Okay.”

“And that brings me to possibly the worst part of all this: money.”

Richie felt Stan go still next to him.

“If you two are willing to pay for all of her procedures, we are going to need a signature on the estimate.” She brought out a piece of paper, Richie looking down at it. The final amount totaled to something slightly under four thousand dollars. “If not, because she is very weak and injured, the kindest thing would be to euthanize her.”

Richie turned to Stan, who looked back and shook his head.

“Richie, we don't have that kind of money. We barely have enough money for rent this month, we're college kids--”

“I want to save her, Stan.” Richie found his voice to sound incredibly small. Stan met his eyes, his shoulders falling. Richie expected another protest, something, but Stan just let out a breath.

“Okay.”

“There are payment plan options that can be discussed with the receptionist up front.” The vet technician said. “But if you are sure this is what you want to do, we will need your signature on this.”

Richie leaned forward quickly, taking the pen and scratching his name and date on the appropriate lines.

“Could I see her?” Richie requested as the technician took the paper into her hands. He wanted to look at her, and make sure she was alive like they said she was. The vet tech’s face was sympathetic.

“She’s currently unconscious and being prepped for surgery, so we can’t allow you into the back right now. However, if she does make it, you are more than welcome to visit her tomorrow.”

The “if” didn’t escape Richie’s notice, and he felt his fists clenching. The technician told them to go up front when they were ready, and left the room. Stan rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Richie--”

“Someone tried to kill her, Stan. Why would someone try to kill her? And after her leg was broken?” The words felt heavy in his chest, a lump growing in his throat, opening his fists to wrap his arms around himself.

“I don't know.” Stan's voice was quiet.

“And she might… She might not even…” The tears he’d been keeping at bay were beginning to come forward, and he knew he couldn’t stop them this time, anxious and angry and upset. “This is so fucked up, I…”

“We need to go talk to the receptionists, alright? So we can go home.”

Richie nodded, wiping furiously at his eyes as Stan led the way back to the reception desk. They confirmed that they were the ones responsible for the puppy, and the payment.

“And what name should I put the invoice under?" The receptionist asked.

"Richard Tozier." Stan answered, before Richie could collect himself enough to open his mouth. "That's T-O-Z-I-E-R."

She nodded, typing the letters as Stan spelled them out for her. There was a moment of silence, then a printer began to whir, and Richie realized that he now had tears trailing down his face, taking in a gasping sort of breath, covering his mouth with his hand at the noise the action made. The receptionist didn't react, keeping her eyes on her desk. Stan kept his attention facing forward, but he reached back and found Richie’s arm, running his fingers down it until he made contact with Richie’s free hand, tangling their fingers together and squeezing tightly.

The receptionist began talking again, highlighting things in yellow and pink on a piece of paper she was holding, but Richie couldn't bring himself to pay attention to her. His mind was scrambled with worry, the only thing he felt able to focus on being Stan's hand in his.

"Richie." Stan's voice, gentle, but sharp enough to catch his attention. "Hey, listen. Considering the fact that we need to eat this week, how much of five hundred dollars can you spare right now?"

It took Richie a moment to think through the question, and even longer to find his voice.

"Maybe... Maybe half of it? I haven't deposited my paycheck from last week yet, I can--"

"That's fine. Half is good. Just give me your card, okay?"

"Okay." He had to let go of Stan's hand to pull the card from his wallet, but he was a little less scattered now, watching as Stan took his own wallet out, extending two cards over to the receptionist.

"Split it in half, please, between these two."

She nodded, getting to work on the credit card machine. Richie turned to Stan in surprise.

"You... You're--"

"They're letting us use a payment plan. The deposit is five hundred." Stan explained. "It's a start, at least. This is going to be expensive."

Richie just swallowed, nodding a little. They got their cards back, and after a few more moments of talk that Richie didn’t pay attention to, they were free to leave. They moved quietly to Stan's car, getting in and closing the doors. Richie sat in the seat, tilting his head back in an attempt to stop crying. It took a few swallows, but finally he fought the tears down, Stan starting up his vehicle and glancing in Richie's direction as he pulled out of his parking spot.

"Were you listening to what the receptionist was telling us?" He asked. He didn't sound angry, Richie shaking his head.

"No."

"I didn't think so. It's okay, it's all on this paper." He put the highlighted paper on Richie's lap, turning out onto the road. Next week's payment is a thousand."

"We can't pull together one thousand dollars in a week, Stanley." Richie said. He was unsure about using "we", since Stan had been so immediate about putting Richie's name on the invoice, but he told himself that Stanley was the one that had used it first. "It's not possible."

"Maybe, but that's what we have to do." Stan said. "Then it's just more payments of about five hundred. That'll be easier."

Richie looked over the invoice.

"That's just about the low side of the estimate." He said, pointing, knowing full well that Stan was driving and wouldn't take his eyes off the road to look. "What about this other stuff? The take home medication and the surgery rechecks?"

"Those are..." Stan hesitated for a moment. "Those are going to be paid by her owner. Whoever takes her home."

"And that isn't us?"

"We can't, Richie. We can't take care of a dog."

"Why not?"

"Lots of reasons, okay?" Stan's voice was slightly strained, and Richie didn't want to upset him. Stan didn't deserve an argument after all he'd done to help, so Richie dropped the statement for now.

"I guess we've got to wait and see if she even pulls through all this." He said instead, Stan nodding a little. Silence fell over them, lasting until they were back at their apartment, standing in front of the door. Stan went to unlock it, but Richie stopped him with a hand.

“I just…” He paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. Stan looked at him, patiently expectant. “Thank you. For everything. You skipped class, which I know is a big deal for you--” Stan grinned a little, smiling down at his feet as he shook his head-- “and you sped through traffic, and you helped pay, and you kept me from losing my mind back there.”

“Your mind? That thing in your head that's supposed to do all the thinking?” Stan asked, pointing to Richie’s forehead. “Can’t lose something you never had, Rich.”

“Fuck off, you took care of me and I’m trying to be nice.”

“Yeah, and sincerity is a weird look on you.” Stan reached forward, entwining his fingers with Richie’s again and squeezing. That was twice now, Richie realized, that Stan had held his hand. “I care about you, dumbass. Of course I’m going to help.”

Richie’s heart was in his throat, and he felt it completely stop as Stan met his eyes. He was more than ready to surge forward and kiss Stanley, about to move when their door was pulled open.

They both jumped and spun, face to face with an extremely angry Beverly Marsh.

"What the fuck?!" She asked savagely, yanking them both inside.

"Bev?" Stan managed out, looking about as shocked as Richie felt. Beverly disregarded him, beginning inexplicably to look Richie over, walking in circles, lifting up his arms and chin as she poked around. Her eyes caught on the blood on Richie's shirt and she even yanked the fabric up, revealing his pale but unharmed stomach underneath, Richie yelping and pulling the clothing back down.

"What the hell are you doing?" He asked. She was glaring at him scrutinizingly, reminding him suddenly of an expression Eddie's mom would get after Eddie spent the afternoon playing outside with them when they were kids.

"Are you hurt?" She asked back.

"...no?" Richie answered. He looked further into the kitchen and noticed Ben standing there, who responded to his silent plea with a small, apologetic shrug. With a growl, Beverly took a fistful of Richie's hair in one hand, some of Stan's in the other, and pulled, knocking their heads together.

"Fuck!" Stan exclaimed, moving back a few paces and clutching the side of his head. Richie did the same, his temple throbbing. "Beverly--"

"What’s wrong with you?" Richie asked her. "We gave you a key to our apartment for emergencies, not so you could come over and assault us!"

"I thought this was an emergency!" Beverly exclaimed back. "I texted Stan to see why he wasn't in class earlier, and all he said was that he was in the ER. With you! And then he turned his goddamn phone off!"

Oh. Beverly whirled on Stan, and he paled.

"I was trying to be respectful!" He defended. "Richie needed me, we were in a hospital--"

"Okay, what kind of hospital?"

"...an animal hospital."

With a giant huff, the tension fell from Beverly's shoulders and she fell into a kitchen chair.

"I swear. I found a grey hair on my head taking a shower the other day, and I'm blaming you two."

“We’re glad you’re okay.” Ben told Richie, walking up to sit at the table next to his girlfriend. “And since you didn’t lose any fingers in the ER, Beverly owes me ten dollars, which is also cool.”

Stan and Richie also took seats around the table. Beverly still looked a bit angry, but it was the residual anger of coming down from an unnecessary heart attack, and didn't seem directed at any of them. Richie took that as a sign that it was safe to speak.

“I found a dog.” He began. “I found a dog, and she was really hurt. She was going to die. Or, no, she did die, the doctor had to resuscitate her, but…”

He told them the story, trying to put on an upbeat tone, praising Stan to a ludicrous degree in an attempt to make him laugh. It only worked a little, Beverly's face frowning and concerned.

“Why would someone hurt her, though?” She asked, Richie shrugging hopelessly in response.

“Maybe they didn't want to pay the medical bills for the leg.” Ben suggested. Stan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “When are you going to know if she's pulled through or not?”

“Uh…” Richie glanced at Stan. He didn't know. “Tomorrow?”

“Sometime later today.” Stan corrected. “I gave the receptionist your phone number. She said someone would call when the surgery was over.”

“Oh.” A nervous energy fell suddenly into Richie's chest, reaching into his jacket pocket and bringing out his phone. He didn't have any missed calls, which felt good and bad at once.

The mood shift didn't go unnoticed. Ben tapped Beverly on the arm and they got up, giving out hugs and leaving quickly. Then it was just Stan and Richie and Richie wanted to fill the silence, opening his mouth without knowing what he was going to say.

“Stan--”

“Nope!” Stan got up, grabbing Richie by the arm and pulling him to his feet. His voice was so uncharacteristically chipper that it sounded forced, Richie looking at him in confusion. “You're going to sit on the couch with me and we're going to watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine and you're not going to worry about the dog right now.”

“Oh.” Was all Richie could think of saying, and Stan bustled around, all business, first getting Richie a clean shirt to put on. As Richie changed he set the episode up on his laptop, then pulled Richie down on the couch, almost on top of him. Richie’s back was against Stan’s chest, their faces a bit too close, and it wasn’t really comfortable for either of them. After some readjusting Richie was still more or less collapsed on Stan's shoulder, their limbs slightly tangled together. It was almost too much, Richie resisting the urge to do a lot of things, holding Stan's hand being the first and most innocent on his list, which was open and resting half against Richie's thigh.

He was so fixated on the curves of Stan's fingers and the pads of his fingertips that he jumped when the hand moved, reaching up to rub Richie's arm comfortingly.

“Don't worry about it, okay?”

“Stan--” Richie didn't know exactly what it was he wanted to say but he knew he wanted to say something, interrupted before he could figure it out.

“I know, it's easier said than done. But just try.”

Then Stan relaxed against the back of the couch, fixing his eyes on the laptop screen, retracting his hand from Richie's arm and resting it back where it had been. Richie wanted to say Stan's name again but the word stuck in his throat, so he reached out instead.

He touched Stan's palm with his own, gentle and hesitant, and when Stan didn't pull away Richie felt himself swallow, slowly fitting his fingers between Stan's. His heart rushed up to his throat when Stan glanced over at him.

“Richie, I--” He began, an expression on his face that Richie couldn't read. Then Richie's cell phone rang, shattering the moment, Richie yanking his hand back as Stan glanced away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An additional warning for this chapter is vague mentions of animal abuse  
> i'm not great at writing arguments so sorry in advance if it's not great lol Huge thank you to everyone reading! ♡

“So she's okay then?” Ben asked, starting up his car.

“She's as okay as a dog can be with a broken leg and one less eye than usual.” Richie answered. “She made it through the surgery fine, but they told me they weren't sure if she would make it through the night. I called this morning to ask, and she's still alive. They said I could visit her.”

“You're not skipping class are you?” Ben sounded rather reproachful. Richie gave him a look.

“First of all, class is so unimportant right now.” Richie insisted, but when Ben raised his eyebrows he sighed. “But no, I'm not skipping. I went to class! Got a solid B on that Steinbeck essay and everything.”

That satisfied Ben, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“You got a B, and you didn't read the book or proofread the essay. Think of what you could do if you just applied yourself!” Ben said. Richie rolled his eyes.

“You sound like my middle school history teacher. I don't need to apply myself. I have Stanley. He accepts my shortcomings and enables my laziness.”

“Where is Stan, anyway? Why isn't he taking you? I thought this dog was you guys’ thing.”

Richie shrugged a little.

“He's got work. Plus, I wanted to hang out with you, Haystack.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, Richie pointing out which turns to take.

“Hey…” Ben's voice was hesitant. “It's not a big dog, right?”

Richie shook his head.

“Nah. You could like… Fit her in a bucket, or something.”

“Buckets are so many different sizes. That doesn't help at all.”

Richie tried to explain the size of the puppy, but it was very difficult with Ben's refusal to look over at his hand gestures while he was driving. Regardless, he kept asking, Richie frowning and turning to him once they'd stopped in the parking lot.

“Are you alright dude?”

Ben climbed out of the car before answering, Richie quickly following suit. Ben avoided Richie's eyes, speaking fast.

“It's probably not the best time to tell you, but… I got bitten by a dog when I was younger. They make me a little nervous.”

“Oh. Don't worry about it!” Richie told him, hoping that he was coming across as reassuring instead of dismissive. “She's a half blind cripple. But if she tries anything, I'll protect you.”

“Thanks.” Ben wasn't nearly as sarcastic as Richie expected from an answer like that, making him a bit worried about how this was going to go. The receptionist that greeted them recognized him, smiling when they walked in.

“You're here for a visit?” She asked pleasantly.

“Yes please.”

“And will your boyfriend be coming as well or is it just the two of you today?”

“...sorry?” Richie thought for sure he'd misheard her, but she began to look just as confused as he felt.

“The young man with you yesterday? The one that…”

Then they both seemed to have revelations at the same moment. Richie realized she was talking about Stan, and she realized that she'd made a mistake.

“I'm so sorry, I just assumed, I shouldn't have--” She began, as Richie bit down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“No!” He said quickly. “No, it's fine. Yeah. My, um… My boyfriend isn't coming. He's at work.”

She simply nodded a bit, getting up to go find someone. Calling Stan his boyfriend put a little excited jump in his chest, the feeling making his leg bounce as he sat next to Ben in the waiting room.

“You just lied to her.” Been accused in a hushed voice.

“She doesn't know that. Nobody knows but you.”

“You have to tell Stanley, at least.”

That was possibly the worst idea Richie had ever heard.

“But Ben, the receptionist thought we were dating. Which means we acted like we were dating. So maybe, if I can get enough people to think we're together, he'll just get the hint and it won't matter that I'm too chickenshit to actually say anything.”

“That's the worst idea I've ever heard.” Ben said. “What are you trying to do, trap him in a common law marriage or something?”

Richie had no idea what that meant. The pointed look he was getting was enough to tell him that it probably wasn't a good thing, though.

“Stan is going to come here, and someone will say something to him about it, and I promise you that he will find it really weird that you lied and said the two of you were dating.”

“What, know that from experience do you?” When Ben did nothing but give him a look, Richie sighed. “Fine! I'll tell Stan. You suck the fun out of everything. You're a fun sucker, Benjamin. Wait, no, that makes it sound like I'm complimenting you.”

Ben snorted back a laugh, a veterinary technician Richie recognized from yesterday approaching them and calling them back. They were led to examination room one this time and it was already set up, a large blanket on the floor. The puppy was lying there, a second technician sitting on the floor next to her, gently stroking her back. Richie held in a gasp.

She had a cone on her head. All of the hair on the right side of her face had been shaved, revealing multiple sets of stitches, including some across her right eyelids that sealed the useless eye shut. She had a hard cast around her broken back leg, and it was covered in pink and blue medical bandages. As soon as she looked up at Richie and Ben, her tail began to wag.

“Hi.” Richie said softly, barely able to believe it. She was alive, her brown eye big and bright as she looked at him, moving and breathing and everything. He almost wanted to cry, leaning down and extending his hand for her to smell him. Once she did her tail began wagging much faster, struggling against the blankets in an effort to get up, whining in excitement.

“Look at that!” The technician said happily. “She recognizes you.”

“She does?” Richie had to swallow, and blink a couple of times.

“Of course, look at how happy she is.”

“Could… Could I hold her?”

“Yes, just be careful.”

Nodding, Richie sat and crossed his legs, reaching towards the puppy. She tried desperately to lick his hands as he scooped her up, placing her down in his lap. She wriggled around a little, still trying to lick him. She calmed a bit when he began to pet her, but her tail didn't slow down. She was so soft and warm and affectionate, Richie torn between lying still to keep her comfortable and smothering her fluffy body in kisses.

“She's on a lot of pain medication, so she should calm down quickly.” The technician said, and it took Richie a moment to realize that she was talking to Ben, who had his back pressed against the door.

“Do you want to pet her?” Richie offered.

“In a minute.”

Not wanting to press him, Richie turned to the technician.

“How’s she doing?”

“She's determined. We've been keeping a close eye on her, but she's been eating well and there haven't been any signs of infection, so it looks like she'll be alright.”

Richie let out a long breath of relief. The puppy was going to be okay. He held her up under her front legs, bringing her face to his, and she shoved their foreheads together, licking at his cheeks and nose as her tail wagged furiously. He felt a rush in his chest, a smile on his face that he couldn't contain even if he tried. He scooped her up completely and held her closer, pressing his face into the fur on her back.

“Oh my god, I love her so much.” He mumbled, the technician giving him a gentle smile in return.

“It's pretty plain to see that she loves you too.”

“How old is she?” Ben asked, stepping forward and sitting down with them, about an arm’s length away.

“Well, since she's just shy of twenty pounds, we're guessing that she's around eight weeks old, though she may simply be malnouished.”

“Wait, what? Eight weeks?” The puppy was bigger than some terriers Richie had met; he didn't expect her to be so new to the world.

“Yes. She seems to be on the small side for her breed, though it is a little early to tell.”

“Small side?” Ben echoed. “What breed of dog is she?”

The technician glanced between them both, and Richie knew he looked about as surprised as Ben did.

“You have what looks to be a purebred Leonberger puppy.” She said. “They sell for around two thousand dollars. It's quite amazing that you managed to find one.”

Richie gaped down at the puppy in his lap. He didn't know what a Leonberger was, but the price alone was impressive. He made a mental note to google it later, and after a bit more talking--Ben, at one point, even reaching over to pet her--it was time to say goodbye.

“How much longer will she have to be hospitalized?” Richie asked.

“Only a couple of days.” The technician responded, in an assuaging sort of tone. “We don't want to keep the two of you apart for too long.”

“Oh, I…” Richie opened his mouth to correct her, remembering what Stan had said. But even voicing the idea that she couldn't come home with him sent a sick jolt through Richie's stomach. He wanted to keep her. He had to. She knew him, and trusted him, relaxed and content in his lap. The thought of moving her just to stand up made his chest ache. “Yeah.”

“Maybe next week, when you come in for the second payment for her treatment. I can show you how to give her medications, and you can take her home with you.”

Richie nodded fervently. Then it really was time to go, the puppy beginning to whine as soon as Richie moved her, pawing at him and even catching the fabric of his shirt between her teeth.

“No.” The vet technician reprimanded. She continued in a gentler voice. “He'll come back soon. Don't worry.”

Richie and Ben left, Richie feeling like he was leaving a part of his heart behind.

He pulled out his phone as soon as they were on the road, looking up what a Leonberger was. When he saw a fully grown one, his eyes went wide.

“Oh, shit.”

“What?” Ben asked.

“These dogs are fucking huge.”

“How huge is huge?”

“Like… Like a hundred and thirty pounds, huge. High energy, hard to train, headstrong… Apparently they can be drooly and will shed everywhere.”

Ben sent him a quick glance, his eyes full of uncertainty.

“And you're sure you can keep her, Richie?”

“Yes.”

Richie wasn’t sure at all, but that didn't matter. He was going to fight to take her home with all he had.

Ben dropped him off in front of the apartment. Richie spotted Stan’s car in the parking lot, meaning he was home now, and he took a breath. Squaring his shoulders, he entered the apartment.

Stan was in the kitchen, in the middle of filling a glass of water when Richie came in. He turned off the tap and glanced over, giving him a smile.

“Oh, hey.” Stan was in casual jeans and a t-shirt, his curls only slightly out of control, tucked behind his ear on one side with his bangs falling in his face. He took a quick drink of water, and managed to look incredible while doing it, a couple of curse words going off in Richie's head. “Did you go and visit her? How is she?”

“She’s… She’s perfect, Stan.”

“Yeah? That’s good.” Stan smiled a little, looking genuinely glad to hear the news, walking over to the couch. It had homework spread out all over the cushions, Stan collecting his things together to give Richie a place to sit.

“I mean, they really did remove her eye.” Richie continued as he went over to the couch. “And she can’t really walk because of the cast on her leg, but she remembered me. She got in my lap, and kept licking me and wagging her tail.”

“Yeah, you saved her life.”

“So did you.” Richie told him. Stan shrugged a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“When will she be able to leave the hospital?” Stan asked. The wording of the question wasn’t lost on Richie, who glanced away.

“In about a week, they said. When we go in for the second payment for her treatment, we can take her home.”

Richie's wording wasn't lost on Stan either. His pencil paused, and a moment later he put it down.

“We can't keep her.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. Why?”

Stan looked at him for a moment, his expression slightly incredulous.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Why can't we keep her?”

It took Stan a moment to speak.

“We live in a pet-free apartment, for one thing. We're not allowed to have anything more than a couple fish.”

“Oh come on Stanley, we both know that rule is bullshit.” When Stan didn't agree, Richie continued. “What about the girl down the hall with three cats? Or the guy below us that owns a turtle?”

“Sure, but remember the girl across from us with the bird? She got kicked out.”

Richie waved a dismissive hand.

“That's because the bird was loud.”

“Exactly, and a dog is going to be a lot louder than a bird, Richie.”

“Come on Stan, we kept a pigeon here like all winter last year because you wanted to.”

“No, because it was injured.” Stan countered, Richie looking at him and widening his eyes a bit.

“So is my puppy. Stan, I know you don't separate out the recycling properly. Don't try to pretend you're above the law.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but Richie could tell that there was more to his argument than apartment rules.

“Well?”

“A puppy is like… Is like a baby, Richie. You're not ready to be a father.”

“I'm great with kids! I was Georgie's favorite, back in the day.”

“That's because you are a kid.”

“And you're a grumpy old man that wears the waistband of his pants up over his belly button. We'll balance out perfectly.”

“Richie--”

“I can figure it out, Stan. I know I can keep her alive, and I'll learn the rest along the way.”

“That statement right there is why this is a terrible idea.”

“She loves me, and I'm committed. I can't just abandon her because I'm ‘not ready’. We're going to work it out.”

Stan just looked at him for a moment, then gave a small shake of his head, turning back to his homework. The dismissiveness irked Richie, especially when he could feel that there was still something Stan wasn't telling him.

“I'm going to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“The real reason.”

Stan pursed his lips, eyes fixed pointedly on the notebook in front of him.

“Do you not like dogs?” When Stan didn't answer, Richie stroked an invisible goatee, pretending to think. “Of course not. Everybody likes dogs. Not liking dogs would be like being afraid of love. Is that it? Are you afraid of love?”

“Richie, please.” Stan's expression had turned into more of a grimace. Richie turned up the dramatics.

“Why, Stanley? Why are you afraid of love?”

“For the love of--” Stan cut himself off in the middle of a slew of angry words and threw his pencil at Richie, who jumped up to avoid getting hit. He danced around the coffee table.

“Is it because she's missing an eye? Did you have a traumatic experience with a cyclops as a child?”

“She’s too fucking expensive!” Richie didn't expect Stan to raise his voice or jump to his feet, but he was standing there, fists clenched and eyes blazing. Richie took a step back. “I know, thinking about money when it's a decision about whether or not a puppy can have a home makes me a heartless bastard, but it's something we need to do.”

“Stan, you're just focusing on--”

“I'm focusing on reality!” Stan barely stopped to breathe, let alone give Richie enough time to get a word in. “If we can't even pay for her surgery, how are we supposed to pay for her vaccinations and her food and everything else she needs? On top of that, the because of all the stuff that's wrong with her, what if she needs physical therapy or something? We can't…”

Richie faltered for a moment. Sure, the hospital bills would be a struggle for a little while, but it was a one time thing. He frowned.

“What if she were a normal dog, Stan?” He asked. “Just a happy, healthy puppy that I wanted to give a home to? Would you say yes then?”

Stan floundered for a moment, wringing his hands.

“I mean, I… I guess so, it's just… She's just so broken Richie, you said that she can't walk--”

“Broken?” Richie felt a sick twist in his stomach. “That's what this is about?”

“Rich--”

“Fuck Stanley, she was abused! So was I! And you were too, unless you've decided to ignore all the shit we went through in Derry. Where the hell would Beverly be if we'd decided to give up on her like this after she told is about her dad?”

“That's not--”

“Once the hospital bills are over and done with, then that's it. She'll cost as much as a normal dog. But she's been messed up, and now you don't want her?”

“Richie!” Stan’s eyes flashed. “Would you just fucking listen to me? It’s not that I don’t want her because she’s broken. I don’t want her because she’s broken, and we don’t have enough money to fix her. And while we’re in college with minimum wage jobs, we never will.”

Richie couldn’t really focus on Stan’s words, too hung up on the phrase Stan had felt the need to say twice. _I don't want her._

“Either way, you don’t want her.” Richie met Stan’s eyes, seeing something slightly pleading behind all the agitation, and he had to look away. He was too angry to be sympathetic; too indignant to be understanding. Agitated and upset, he began moving towards the door. “I’ll move out if that'll make you happy, but fuck you Stan. I’m keeping her. Use whatever excuse you want.”

He was out the door before Stan even opened his mouth, slamming it behind him. It was incredibly windy outside, whipping his hair into his face. He didn't need to see where he was going, his feet carrying him off automatically towards the trees away from campus. His legs moved fast but it didn't serve to calm him much, even when he'd traveled past the creek and downstream. He pulled out his phone, calling the first number that came to mind, speaking as soon as the line was picked up.

“Eddie, I'm in love with you now. Stan is dead to me.”

Eddie laughed a little.

“Hey Richie.”

Richie let out a long, loud sigh, prompting Eddie to tell him to shut up and stop breathing in his ear. It wasn't the response Richie was looking for.

“No! You're supposed to ask me what's wrong and be super sympathetic to whatever I have to say!”

“If that's what you want, then why the fuck did you call me?”

“I thought you were my best friend in the whole wide world, but I guess I should have known better. You abandoned us and moved away.”

“Shut up. Just tell me what Stan did that's making you so melodramatic.”

Richie did. He explained the entire situation and his own outrage, with an emphasis on just how wrong Stan was. Eddie was quiet for a few moments.

“Stan's right, you know.”

“...what? Are you serious?”

“Maybe not as much about the money thing, but about everything else.”

“But--”

“Think about it. Like, actually think about it. You might be able to get away with hiding her if she were a small dog, but she's not. She's going to get really big, right? She deserves at least a backyard, but you'd have to smuggle her around everywhere. It wouldn't be fair.”

Richie bit the inside of his cheek.

“Okay, but--”

“Plus, I looked it up while you were talking, and this dog breed isn't recommended for first time owners. You'll have to be really strict with the discipline or she'll destroy your house, and offense, but you can't discipline anything. You almost got kicked out of Six Flags once because you couldn't say no to Georgie.”

“Did you just say 'offense’ instead of 'no offense’?”

“You’ve just got to think about this stuff, that's all. She's not just going to be kicked out onto the streets if you don't adopt her, you know. There are rescue groups and stuff, people that would be able to take care of her.”

“I know, but I just…” Richie knew the words about to come from his mouth were incredibly childish, but he said them anyway. “I want her. I feel like if I don't take care of her myself I'm going to regret it.”

“I know. I'm just saying, Richie. That is stuff you do actually have to think about.”

"Yeah, I guess.” Richie sighed, kicking up some grass as he walked. He was farther out into the woods than he'd ever gone before; it would probably be smart to start heading back. “If it were you and me, would you let me keep her?”

“I mean yeah, probably. We’re both fucking stupid, aren’t we?” He fell silent. “Bill definitely would. Mike too. And Beverly. Hell, Richie, you messed up. Probably all of us would but Stan.”

“Just my fucking luck. Figures.”

Silence fell between them for a moment, and in the quiet Richie realized he could hear something.

“Richie, hey--”

“Shut up.”

Eddie made a small, indignant noise at being hushed.

“You just--”

“Seriously, shut up for a second.”

Eddie did, though not without complaint. Richie walked in what he thought was the direction of the noise, shushing Eddie whenever his friend tried to speak. Finally though, he could hear it distinctly. Barking, howling, whining. Not just one dog though, like the time he’d found the puppy in the creek; lots of dogs, more than he could distinguish. Eddie heard it too.

“Richie? Where are you right now?”

Richie broke through a patch of trees, then stopped in his tracks.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking at.” He answered. He felt sick to his stomach.

“Yeah, and I don’t either. This is a phone call, genius.”

Removing his phone from his ear, Richie took a quick picture. Twenty or so feet ahead of him was a mess of crates, all stacked and stuck together, made of wooden boards and chicken wire. Dogs were crammed into all of them, many of the spaces looking much too small, and all of them were in bad shape, dirty and cramped, some even looking malnourished. It was like a compound, a whole operation full of abused animals.

Afraid and unwilling to look much longer, Richie stumbled backwards into the trees, turning immediately to start home.

“Woah.” Eddie mumbled. “Fuck. So… I think you just found a puppy mill, Richie. That makes sense, I guess. I don’t know how else you would be able to find a purebred puppy in the middle of the woods.”

  


The apartment was empty when Richie returned. He wasn’t really angry at Stan anymore, too shocked and unsettled by his discovery, but he was grateful anyways. He was still unsure of how he would react if he did see Stanley. Grabbing his computer from the coffee table, Richie holed himself up in his bedroom, lying down on his bed. All it took was a simple google search to confirm that what he’d seen was indeed a puppy mill, but to his disbelief, found that puppy mills weren’t illegal. Frowned upon, sure, and supposedly regulated, but not illegal.

When Richie cautiously emerged from his room to get something for dinner that evening, Stan still wasn’t there. He pulled his phone out, debating with himself for a full twenty minutes before sending a text.

 _To: S(a)tan  
_ _Where are you?_

 _From: S(a)tan  
_ _Out._

Ouch. Okay. Richie went back to his room. He heard Stan come back sometime later in the evening, but didn’t try to say hi. Stan was off to class before Richie woke the next morning, and before it was time for him to return, Richie had to leave for work. But he was afraid to return home and see Stan there, accepting a second shift that someone needed covered. By the time he finally headed back, he was so exhausted that he forgot to be nervous, half expecting the place to be empty again.

No such luck; Stan was sitting on the couch, as much anxiety on his face as was buzzing in Richie's chest, his phone in one hand and an envelope in the other. Richie swallowed, kicking off his shoes and entering the kitchen on sock-clad feet. He wasn't going into the living room.

“Stan the Man. Hey.”

“You're, um…” Stan looked away from him. “You're late.”

“Yeah, someone needed a shift covered.” He decided to try and break the tension, unable to stand the awkwardness in the room. “Why? Didn't keep you waiting, did I?”

He tried to make his voice playful, but didn't even get a smile back, his heart sinking. Instead Stan got to his feet to approach him, and Richie resisted the urge to take a step back.

“Richie, I--”

“Stan, no.” Richie held his hands up. “I don't want you to apologize. I get it.”

“...what?”

“I called Eddie yesterday, and he talked some sense into me. And I must have been really irrational, because we all know how sensible and down to earth Eddie is.” Richie smiled a bit, but still Stan’s face was unchanged. “So I kinda see what you mean, about not being able to keep her. I still want to, but that might not be best for her, you know?”

Stan’s face relaxed into something a little sympathetic.

“I… Yeah. I don't think it would.” Stan looked away from him. “But that's not what I wanted to talk about.”

That had Richie frowning.

“What's up?”

Wordlessly, Stan handed the envelope over. It was unmarked and hadn’t been sealed, the top flap simply folded inside. Upon holding it, Richie had a feeling he could tell what was in it, but wasn't sure he believed it.

“Stan… What is this?”

“Well, I decided that if there were going to be problems between us about this, I didn’t want them to be about money. So I called the other Losers, and…”

Suspicions more or less confirmed, Richie opened the envelope. It was full of money from all of their friends. Not as much as they needed to completely pay off the hospital bills, but enough to buy them time to gather the rest of it on their own.

“Stan, no.” Richie felt his voice breaking. “I can’t take this, it’s…”

“They insisted. They wanted to help.”

“But--”

“I talked to them, and they could tell how much she means to you.”

A lump was welling up in Richie’s throat and he pulled Stan into a hug, feeling overwhelmed by the unexpected gesture.

“I called people yesterday, and they wired money over to me last night and this morning.” Stan explained. Richie leaned back, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“You need to tell me.” He insisted. “You need to tell me who did what. I have to pay them back.”

“No. Not at all.”

“If you don't tell me, I promise you right now that Crazy Frog is the only music you will listen to for the rest of your life.” Normally Richie would be all for free money, but the amount being near two thousand made him uneasy.

“You’re threatening me? After I've done something nice for you?” Stan's eyebrows were raised, but he looked amused. “Completely outrageous.”

Richie was pulling out his phone, in the middle of looking up Crazy Frog when Stan stopped his arm, laughing a little.

“Five hundred of it was me, okay? Does that make you feel better?”

“I…” Richie did some quick math in his head. “A little, yeah. Where were you keeping that much money stashed away?”

“I've been saving up.” Stan responded with a shrug.

“For what?”

“How many times have I said that we need a TV?”

“Oh by golly!” Richie adopted a high pitched southern accent, clasping his hands together and leaning towards Stanley. “You were going to buy me a TV?”

“That is a gross exaggeration, but yes.” Stan said. “I'm tired of watching stuff on tiny laptop screens.”

Stan had voiced that desire multiple times, Richie nodding a bit.

“I'll allow it!” He allotted, Stan rolling his eyes. “But only if a bigger screen doesn't cut into cuddle time during movie nights.”

It was the first time any acknowledgement had been made to their increasing proximity when sitting together on the couch, and Richie wondered if mentioning it had been a mistake. Then Stan's cheeks went pink, and he felt rather proud of himself instead.

“We don't watch movies.” Stan countered, seemingly determined to ignore the blush on his face. “We just watch television shows.”

“But we could have a movie night.” Richie said. “Let's do that! What do you want to watch?”

After some debate they ended up settling on Moulin Rouge, though Richie was unsure of how they got there. They sat awkwardly apart from each other on the couch as the movie started, Stan looking self-conscious, Richie getting up after a few minutes to make popcorn. He didn't really want popcorn, but getting up for it gave him the opportunity to run and make a crash landing back down on the couch, half sprawled not-so-accidentally in Stan's lap. He moved around unnecessarily, wriggling and stretching under the guise of getting comfortable until Stan began to complain at him. Richie ended up lengthwise across the couch with his head on Stan's thighs, but when he moved to sit up there was a hand on his shoulder, casual but insistent, so he stayed, slowly turning his attention back to the screen.

“Hold up, you never told me Professor Slughorn was in this movie!” He exclaimed, pointing at an actor that he didn't know the name of with rather terrible ginger facial hair. Stan glanced down at him.

“Have you never seen Moulin Rouge?”

Richie shook his head innocently.

“Then you'd better pay attention.”

The inane amounts of colors, sparkles, and dancing made that mission easy to accomplish. But Richie was a notorious talker and during movies was no exception, he and Stan discussing whether Ewan McGregor was hot or not, or if they would rather be a theater troupe member or a cabaret girl (Stan's answer of “cabaret girl” had Richie choking on a popcorn kernel). Every now and then Stan would run his fingers through his hair, the gesture seemingly absent-minded, and simple as it was, it made Richie's heart soar.

Stan ended up falling asleep during the depressing bit of the movie, just before the climax, and as a result Richie missed a lot of the ending. He just kept looking up at Stan's face, enjoying how relaxed he looked, especially since he spent so much of his waking hours stressed, exasperated, or sarcastic. Richie felt torn, part of him wanting to simply watch Stan sleep, part of him wanting to kiss him, and part of him knowing that both of those previous desires were creepy and that he should just go to bed. An immature part of him also  wanted to prank Stanley while he was so vulnerable, but with a great show of self-restraint on all fronts, option three won out. Well, almost. Richie took a picture of him first.

To: Lavagirl  
_LOOK at him wtf I think we need to get staniel’s dna tested bc he cant be human  
I don't think it's possible for human beings to be this fucking pretty_

Beverly's response took a couple of minutes.

From: Lavagirl  
_Your compliments are so damn weird  
also wtf where are you what kind of vantage point is that_

Richie held his phone at arm's length, taking a selfie that also had Stan's legs in the shot.

 _From: Lavagirl  
_ _Nonconsensual lap laying is a crime, Richard._

To: Lavagirl  
_Hey!!! who do you take me for  
it was consensual ok we were watching moulin rouge and he fell asleep_

 _From: Lavagirl  
_ _Gayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy_

Richie couldn't argue with that.

 _From: Lavagirl  
_ _Ben thinks it's gay too_

 _To: Lavagirl  
_ _Is ben doing that thing where he reads my texts over your shoulder? Bc he needs to stop that. Some things are meant to be private. Like the plans for his surprise birthday party last year._

 _From: Lavagirl  
_ _We're in bed rn idk what you expect_

That prompted a couple of mental images that Richie didn't want to have.

 _To: Lavagirl  
_ _Did I interrupt the sexytimes? Sorry about that_

From: Lavagirl  
_Trust me rich there is not any universe in which I would stop just to answer a text from you  
You should see Ben's face right now he's SO red I love him_

 _To: Lavagirl  
_ _gross!!!!!!!!!_

 _From: Lavagirl  
_ _Whatever man at least I'm getting some instead of pining in the lap of the man I'm in love with_

That one stung, just a little.

 _To: Lavagirl  
_ _Watch yourself bev, I'm catching a big ol case of the Fuck You's_

From: Lavagirl  
_Well you can miss me with that shit bc I'm already on the train to Sleepytime Junction  
night night Richie_

Richie sent her a heart back, then pulled himself to his feet with a sigh. He woke Stan, audibly cooing at the dazed and sleepy look on his face, more or less pushing the barely-awake object of his affections into his bedroom before going to his own. He crawled in bed, unwilling to go to sleep yet, sending a _What's up?_ text to both Bill and Mike.

 _From: R-R-R-Rap God  
_ _My art portfolio is fucking due next week and I fucking can't believe how hard Mike's nose is to fucking draw I'm going to fucking stab someone with a paintbrush_

 _From: Black Lightning  
_ _Not much. Do you ever think about how snakes just don't have arms?_

Richie decided that maybe sleep was the best course of action after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait between this chapter and the last one! It's been a busy couple of weeks. This is probably my favorite chapter, and I hope you all like it too!

The next week passed incredibly slowly. All Richie could think about was taking the puppy home. He knew that technically Stan still hadn't consented to the idea, but since he no longer seemed violently opposed, Richie had put together a plan: Stan was going to be working that day, so Richie was just going to go and pick her up with Beverly and surprise him when he got home. Then Stan would fall in love with how cute she was, and there wouldn't be any problems. Foolproof. 

There was still a small doubt nagging at him though, a hesitance that had his confidence shaken. What Eddie had said was still bothering him; about the discipline, and about an apartment not being a home for a dog like her. It had him entertaining other options, but since they didn't include the puppy staying in his life, he didn't like to think about them. 

Then the day finally came. Richie called Beverly as soon as he woke up, getting her disgruntled voice promising she would be there soon. They seemed to have different definitions of "soon” though, with Richie waiting outside the apartment complex for nearly fifteen minutes before Beverly showed up. She rolled down her car window. 

“Get in loser, we're going adopting.” 

Richie did, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Was that… Was that a Mean Girls reference?” 

“Yeah, I finally watched it the other day. I don't get the hype.” She confessed. “But I've gotta get in those references, right? Mean Girls references are fetch.”

“I am not going to indulge you and finish that.” Richie told her flatly, and she laughed. They made it to the animal hospital pretty quickly--Beverly had a bit of a lead foot--the same receptionist on duty again. He smiled at her. 

“We're here to pay and pick up.” Richie said. “Again, just the two of us. No boyfriend. He’s working.”

“He seems to work a lot.” She said, smiling back, Richie grateful that she seemed to find the moment funny now, instead of embarrassing. He nodded.

“He’s the backbone of the household, honestly.” 

Beverly, who had been cooing at a shih tzu in a bowtie that was waiting with its owner in the lobby, whipped around to stare at him.

“Excuse me, what?” She asked, as soon as the receptionist had gone. “Who is it that’s working? Your boyfriend?” 

“It’s an inside joke, don’t worry about it.” 

“The hospital staff think you’re dating Stan?” 

“You didn’t know?” That surprised Richie. “I figured Ben would have told you. The receptionist assumed it, and I kinda just… Didn’t correct her.”

“You have to tell Stan!” 

“Why do you and Ben have to suck so much? Can’t I just have this?” 

“No. You could actually have a real boyfriend, if you really wanted.” 

Richie rolled his eyes. 

“People with fairy tale romances aren’t allowed to give love advice, okay princess? It isn’t fair to us mere mortals.”

“You’re a dumbass, Richie. I don’t have a fairy tale romance.”

“You don't? Ben will be heartbroken to hear that.”

“Nobody does! Ben and I just actually fucking talk about our feelings, like normal people. If you don’t, nothing is ever going to happen.”

“Well, actually…” Richie twisted his fingers together. “Some things have been happening. Kind of.” 

Beverly raised his eyebrows.

“Tell.” She demanded, and Richie felt flustered.

“I don’t know! Like… The day we found the puppy he held my hand a couple of times, and he drove so fast to help me get to the hospital, and…” He caught the look Beverly was giving him. “I’m not reading too much into this, okay! You had to be there.” 

“...right.”

“Mr. Tozier?” Someone called. Richie’s head snapped up, feeling strange at being called by his last name, and there the puppy was, on a slip leash, walking clumsily with her cast-clad leg but walking all the same. She still had the sutures on her head with the cone around it, but she looked happier and more energetic, and even bigger than she had just a week ago. When she saw him she began scrambling in his direction, her nails slipping in an attempt to get any traction against the wooden floor of the lobby. She whined, her tail wagging furiously, and he ran to her, falling to his knees. She climbed up in his lap immediately. 

“I told you he would come back!” It was the vet technician from last time, and she was smiling. Richie scooped the puppy up, pressing kisses to her forehead and getting plenty in return. A strange part of him wanted to cry, and he did his best to push the feeling down, petting her as she wriggled around in his arms.

Richie held onto her as they went back into an examination room, the technician walking him through how to give her the medications she was prescribed. They were simple antibiotics and painkillers that could be given by mouth, and they’d found out that she liked treats, cheese, or peanut butter to eat them with.

Beverly had to hold her while Richie paid, and she got a faceful of kisses too, saying she was surprised by how sweet she was as they got in the car to return to campus. Richie nodded.

“Yeah, considering where she came from.”

“You know where she came from?”

“I think so.” The puppy put her mouth around Richie’s fingers, gnawing gently and covering his hand in slobber. “I kinda came across a puppy mill when I was walking the other day. They said at the hospital that she’s a purebred dog; I feel like that’s the only explanation.” 

Beverly was making a face, the expression somewhere between sad and angry.

“I did one of those independent study things on puppy mills in school. They're terrible. You should try to get it shut down.”

“They're legal though.” Richie told her. “I looked it up.”

“Yeah, but only if they're all up to code and everything. If they're shitty, you can call the cops on them and stuff.”

“This one was definitely shitty.” Richie said. “It was horrible.”

Beverly dropped them off at the apartment, kissing both the puppy and Richie on the head before driving away. The coast was clear, but Richie still unzipped his jacket and held her close to his body as he climbed the stairs in a half-hearted attempt to hide her. Once he was inside, the door closed and locked, he put her on the floor.

She began investigating at once, her tail wagging as she moved, her cone causing her to bump into every piece of furniture she tried to sniff at. The vet technician said she only needed the cone if she began messing with her sutures or her cast, so he came up behind her and took it off, letting her explore more freely. 

“You need a name.” He told her. He would have time to think of something, though; he had an art project to complete first. Nervous about leaving her alone, Richie beckoned for her to follow him, going into Stan's room.

The room was messier than usual. Not the “half empty bag of Cheetos on top of the dresser” level of messy that Richie's room was, but still. There were loose papers strewn randomly across the desk, and his bed was unmade, both of which were unusual. 

Stan's polaroid camera was on his bookshelf, up on the highest shelf, Richie having to jump to grab it. Stanley had always owned a polaroid camera, but this newest one was blue and pretty and a birthday gift from Mike. Richie took some polaroid film too, hastily making Stanley's bed on his way out and hoping that made up for it, at least a little. 

“Okay pup!” Richie called out, trying to get the puppy's attention, for she had wandered off and started investigating the bathroom. “Photo shoot time! I'm gonna make some thank you cards, and I'm sure my friends will want to see you.” 

Getting pictures of her wasn't easy. After a few tries he put the attempts on hold, because she was just too inquisitive to be still for him, having to sniff and paw at and mouth on everything. It was easier when she began to get sleepy, Richie trying his best to take photos of her from the left, because that was the side of her face that still had an eye.

Once he had six good pictures he retrieved a pen and opened a notebook. The puppy was nearly completely asleep by now, almost falling over from her sitting position on the rug, so Richie picked her up, putting her next to him on the couch, his heart melting when she curled up, rested her head and one paw on his leg, and fell asleep.

Richie had written thank you notes all his life, mostly to his grandmother, his mom telling him that if he didn't he would be excluded from her will when she died or something. After years of sending his written appreciation for every birthday and Christmas gift he'd ever gotten, Richie found that writing thank you notes came rather easily to him, but when it came to his six best friends he had so much to be thankful for that he only got through messages for Bill and Ben before his eyes started burning with exhaustion. He was getting sleepy too, and in his reluctance to misspell every third word on his note to Mike, Richie put his pen down and reclined onto the couch. The puppy repositioned herself in her sleep, snuggling up close to his side and letting out a soft exhale.

“You need a name.” Richie told her again, a few options cycling through his mind, all of them coming together and being lost in a haze as he too fell asleep.

  
  


“No! Bad dog.”

Richie woke to the sound of Stan's voice, then a long, contemplative whine. The added smell of Chinese takeout made the whole thing rather confusing, Richie groaning a bit and rolling onto his back.

“No begging.” Stan's voice again, insistent and reprimanding. “Go lie down.” 

Richie lifted his head up to place his chin on the couch’s armrest, looking into the kitchen. Stan was seated at the table, eating what Richie assumed was dinner, judging by the setting sun outside. The puppy was sitting next to his chair, looking up at him, her ears perked up as she whined quietly. Richie felt himself begin to smile.

“Baby!” He called, both Stan and the puppy turning to him, though only the puppy dashed over and began kissing his face. Richie tried to ignore his twinge of unrealistic disappointment.

“She's trying to eat my dinner.” Stan complained, though Richie was overjoyed to see that he was smiling. “Did you have a nice nap?” 

“I did, actually.” Richie rolled onto the floor, so the puppy could more easily climb all over him. “I kinda got interrupted in the middle of my thank you notes, though.” 

“I was surprised to see those.” Stan said. “It's very unexpectedly courteous of you. Is my note going to be an apology for that Crazy Frog threat?”

“Your note can be whatever you want.” Richie told him, getting up and entering the kitchen. He got himself a plate just as Stan was standing to put his own plate in the sink. The puppy trotted along at his heels.

“Also…” Stan looked slightly hesitant. “Did you make my bed?”

“Uh… Yeah, kinda.” Richie gave him a sheepish smile. “I noticed that your room looked messy.”

“You're calling my room messy?”

“It was also an apology for using nearly all of your polaroids.” Richie put his plate down on the table, next to the rest of the Chinese takeout. He spooned a huge lump of chicken fried rice on his plate. Stan shrugged.

“It's okay, I haven't used that camera in forever. You reminded me that I should start using it again.”

Richie nodded a little, noticing something on the table. It was another polaroid, but he knew he hadn't taken it, mostly because he was in the picture. It was himself and the puppy, curled up together and asleep on the couch. The date was written at the bottom in Stan's miniscule but precise handwriting. Before Richie could ask about it Stan snatched the picture away, asking his own question instead.

“Have you named her yet?” 

“Oh!” Richie sat down, looking at the puppy at his feet. She was looking back imploringly, her gaze going back and forth between Richie and his food. “I have two ideas I really like.”

“And?” Stan prompted.

“Carrie, short for carrion, because there were vultures all around her.” Richie started. Stan raised his eyebrows. “Or Mira, short for miracle. What do you think?” 

Stan was quiet for a long time, looking down at the puppy.

“Mira is really cheesy, but you can't name a puppy ‘decomposing flesh’. You just can't.” 

“Mira!” Richie exclaimed happily, reaching down to pet her. She didn't react to her name at all, but the increase in his mood made her tail wag faster. “Now, Stan… There's something I need to tell you about her.”

Stan looked hesitant, but waited for him to continue.

“She's not a normal dog.”

“What, did she get bitten by a radioactive spider?”

“That would be badass, but no. She's a Leonberger.”

“...a what?”

“Google it.” 

Stanley pulled out his phone and did just that, his eyes going wide as he looked through images online. 

“She's only eight weeks old right now. Or, she was a week ago. So… nine?” Richie finished, and Stan let his phone fall to the table.

“We really can't keep her, Richie.”

“I know.” Richie said, and Stan looked surprised. Richie paused, digging around on his plate, unwilling to meet Stan's eyes. “I know. I know that now.”

“What are you saying?” Stan asked him.

“I've been thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“I think I have a solution.” Richie kept his eyes on the pair of wooden chopsticks between his fingers. If he so much as glanced at Mira, he wouldn't be able to get his next words out. “What if we just fostered her for a while, until she's all healed up? I'll put out an ad on Craigslist or something, and we'll take care of her until someone that seems decent responds. Because…” He met Stan's eyes. “I do want to take care of her, at least for a little while.” 

“I…” Stan simply stared at him. Maybe he'd expected more of a fight. “Yeah, okay. That sounds like something we could do.”

Beaming, Richie wolfed down his food. It was hard to ignore his audience, leaving one piece of chicken on his plate, slipping it into his hand in a way he thought was discreet. He leaned down to give it to Mira when Stan's voice stopped him.

“Richie, do not give that chicken to that dog.”

“But she's cute!”

“Richie.”

“And hungry.”

“Then she should eat her own food.”

“She doesn't have any.”

After a moment, understanding dawned on Stan's face. 

“We're going to the pet store tonight, aren't we.”

Richie's eyes lit up.

“Yes!”

The three of them went together to PetSmart, Stan insisting they put Mira’s cone back on her for safety. Richie held onto her during the car ride, keeping her in his arms as they entered the store. She began squirming immediately, wanting desperately to be let down to explore, so the first thing they did was purchase a leash and collar so she could hobble around on her own. They got strange looks for the shabby shape of their puppy, but nobody came up to them about it, so Richie ignored them.

In truth, he was having too much fun to give the glances a second thought. Stan held Mira’s leash, his phone out to do research, stressing aloud about brands and prices and quality, debating back and forth about what food they should get. Richie was darting around and, as friends often put it, being a fucking idiot. And Stan ignored him for the most part, until they were back in the aisle with the collars and he picked up a large spiked one. He held it out.

“See this? You’re not on my level until you shop at PetSmart for sex accessories.”

Stan snorted. “Richie, to get on your level I would need concrete shoes and and one way ticket to the Mariana Trench.”

Richie clipped the collar around his neck, splaying his body across the shelves behind him. He winked and blew a kiss in Stan’s direction. Stan punched him in the chest.

“I hate going shopping with you.”

“Oh, I like it when you’re rough with me. Have I been a bad boy, Stan?”

Stan blushed from his head to his toes, and Richie laughed.

“I fucking swear--”

A PetSmart employee chose that moment to turn onto their aisle, beaming with the bright desire to be helpful.

“Anything I can help you with today?” She asked. Richie opened his mouth, but Stan stepped on his foot, and he yelped instead.

“We’re good, thanks.” Stan told her. She nodded, still smiling, and moved on.

By the time they left, Mira had a leash, collar, name tag, food, bowls, treats, a brush, and a couple of toys. Richie was extremely happy with the spoils of their trip, Mira eating both her dry food and her treat-wrapped medication easily. Between the painkiller and the doubtless excitement of the day, she fell asleep quickly. 

“Wow, she's out.” Stan remarked. Mira was laying across Richie's feet, he and Stan sitting up on the couch. “She hasn't left you alone since you woke up.”

Richie couldn't help the grin on his face, glancing down at the little bundle of fur. 

“What can I say? The ladies love me.” Then something warm and wet oozed into Richie's sock, and he resisted the urge to squirm. “And now she's drooling on my foot.”

Stan laughed. “She’s cute.” He admitted. “She’s a bit of a mess, though.” 

“Yeah.” 

They sat in silence for a few more moments, then Stan got to his feet with a sigh. 

“I’ve got class tomorrow, so I’m going to bed. And remember, we both have work tomorrow evening. I don’t know if you want to call Ben or Beverly to watch her or something, but we have to show up. We used up our last sick days going to that Kings of Leon concert.” 

“Right.” Richie nodded a bit. He would think of something. “Night, Stan.” 

Stan hesitated for a moment more, looking almost like he wanted to say something before seemingly thinking better of it and walking off to his bedroom. Richie, still wide awake from the nap he’d taken earlier, gently lifted Mira up and cradled her as he got a snack from the kitchen, his sudden one handedness making it difficult to pour a mountain of Chex Mix into a paper towel and carry it over to the coffee table. He sat on the floor, placing the puppy in his lap, and got to work finishing his thank you notes. 

It was late--or early, depending on one’s point of view--when he finally finished, stretching out his aching limbs. Mira had woken up a couple of times, once to get water and once to play some with her rabbit toy, gnawing gently on said rabbit’s foot as she watched Richie with a quiet eye. He persuaded her to follow him into his bedroom, getting his winter comforter down from the top of his closet and making it into a comfy nest for her, placing her down on the blanket before getting into his own bed. Dog beds had been deemed too expensive, especially when they had perfectly good blankets at home.

It took only a few minutes for the whining to start. His mattress was being pawed at insistently, and with a sigh he peered over the side of his bed. Mira was looking at him imploringly, her big brown eye wide and sad, looking incredibly hurt at being left on the floor.

“Okay, okay!” Richie bent down, picking her up and lying down, tucking her head under his chin. “Just this once, though. We can’t do this when you’re bigger; there’ll be no room for me.”

He tried not to think about the fact that when she did reach the size that she’d be to edge him out of his own bed, she wouldn’t be here anymore. He just gave her a few more pets, murmured a few comforts, and went to sleep. 

  
  


Mira wasn’t in bed with him when he woke up the next morning. The thought of her jumping down on her broken back leg was scary, but when he went out into the living room to look for her, his eyes only half open, he nearly tripped over her body. She bounded up to him, perfectly fine, wagging and letting out playful growling sounds as she nipped at the fabric of his sweatpants. Richie picked her up and cuddled her, stuffing his face into her fur and getting a multitude of licks in return. He saw a note of paper on the table that he was sure hadn’t been there the night before, walking over to it. He recognized Stan’s handwriting before he’d made it all the way to the kitchen, but due to leaving his glasses on his bedside table, had to pick up the note and hold it close to his face to make out the tiny words. 

_ Hey. I got up really early this morning (accidentally) so Mira’s been fed, let out to go to the bathroom, and your letters for the others have all been put in the mail. I also noticed that she had an accident in the bathroom overnight--is it technically an accident if she hasn’t actually been house trained yet?--so I cleaned that up too. We need to start training her. You should work on that today; I read that puppies like to learn, so it could be fun. But anyways, good morning Richie. Feel free to text me, or whatever. I’ll see you later. _

He’d signed his name at the bottom, as though Richie wouldn’t know who the note was from unless he put his name on it. He took a picture of the note, attaching it to a text as he stumbled his way to the bathroom. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
Stan is BEST Man.  _

Stan sent him back the flexing bicep emoji, which almost fit, but not quite. But Richie had a sneaking suspicion that Stanley only pretended to know how to use emojis, so he let it slide. He looked up at himself in the mirror as he got his toothbrush out, taking in his wild mess of hair with a laugh. The mane was more out of control than usual today. He brushed his teeth before returning to the living room, lying on the floor with Mira and taking a picture of the two of them. Mira was a squirmy blur, wriggling her way over his chest, but it only served to help the caption he was trying to make. He was in focus at least, smiling for the photo, squeezing his eyes closed.

_ To: S(a)tan  
Thing 1 and Thing 2. A pair of fluffy beasts. _

Stan’s response took a couple of minutes, enough time for Richie to heat himself up some Chinese food leftovers in the microwave. 

_ From: S(a)tan  
Thing 3 is fucking bored as hell. help _

Stan had sent a selfie as well, looking into the camera with lazy, lidded eyes, his chin on his fist. He was holding his pencil in that hand, the graphite tip resting against his bottom lip. His curls were a little more out of control than usual too, and Richie loved it when his hair did that, swallowing. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
Wow _

_ From: S(a)tan  
What? _

Richie hesitated. It was so much easier to be flirtatious over text, but so much riskier at the same time, because he couldn’t see how Stanley was reacting. He couldn’t just pull a face to negate the whole thing. He decided to go for it anyway.

_ To: S(a)tan  
You just look damn cute today. But that’s nothing new _

_ From: S(a)tan  
Shut up, rich. _

Richie sent him a photo in response, himself with one of his chopsticks between his teeth like a rose, pulling a sleazy face. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
You come here often? _

They texted back and forth throughout most of the day, Richie playing with Mira and sending Stan updates. He kept her bathroom breaks frequent to avoid another accident, praising her whenever she pottied outside. He tried to pose them in some sort of funny way every time they went out for Stan’s amusement, Richie taking a photo of himself with Mira tucked under his arm with one hand, opening his jacket like a seedy watch salesman. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
Hey kid. Wanna buy some pugs? _

Richie played tug of war with Mira until she exhausted herself and fell asleep on the rug, using that time to get some homework done. She was feeling affectionate when she woke up, but every time Richie tried to take a picture of her licking his face, she scrambled away. So he had an idea. It was stupid, but it worked, and he got the picture he wanted, sending it to Stan. He had his face scrunched up, and Mira was licking his cheek.

_ To: S(a)tan  
Wouldja look at that, kisses. Someone loves me _

_ From: S(a)tan  
You trying to make me jealous? Bc it’s kinda working a little bit. _

_ To: S(a)tan  
I may or may not have put peanut butter on my cheeks to make the kisses happen. It’s fine _

_ From: S(a)tan  
You wouldn’t need to put peanut butter on your face to get me to kiss you. _

Richie’s eyebrows shot up his forehead so quickly he felt as though he’d pulled a muscle. He couldn’t really breathe properly, sitting up fast. They'd been sending pseudo-flirtations back and forth all day (or, psuedo in Stan's case; all of Richie's compliments and propositions had been embarrassingly real) and this must just be Stan taking the joke a step further. But to Richie, this was the furthest thing from a joke, and he needed to diffuse it fast. He worded his response carefully. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
Watch out, I’d have to lick you back. _

Threats like that were usually enough to deter playful banter like this. They definitely worked on Eddie, anyway; Richie hadn’t had to use them on Stan much at all.

_ From: S(a)tan  
Is that a threat or a promise? _

_ To: S(a)tan  
A promise, definitely _

Richie didn’t realize what time it had gotten to be until he heard a jingling at the door only a couple of minutes later. Stan’s classes were over for the day. Richie jumped to his feet and washed his face off in the kitchen sink, clean and dry just in time for Stan to walk through the door. Mira let out a small, excited sound when she saw him, bounding over clumsily on her oversized puppy paws. Stan chuckled at her, crouching to give her attention.

“Look at that, girl. You were home all day with Richie and he managed to keep you alive.”

“Hey!” Richie exclaimed in protest, walking over to them both. “I’m a great dog dad!”

Stan didn’t really answer, too preoccupied with petting Mira, though he did glance up and stick his tongue out in Richie’s direction. Whether the action was meant to be flirtatious or not Richie didn't know, but with the mood their interactions had taken so far that day, it felt a bit like it was. Remembering back to the last text he'd sent, Richie leaned close when Stan pulled himself back up to his feet and licked his cheek.

Stan stared at him. Just stared at him, surprise all over his face, his entire body stock still. Richie froze too, knowing he’d done something wrong, he’d messed up, he’d crossed a line that he knew was there, but in the moment, hadn’t cared enough to look for. He took three quick steps back, mind reeling for something to say. 

“I told you it was a promise.” He finally decided on, for a lack of anything else. His voice didn't have any of the playfulness that it needed for the words to sound casual.

“Yeah, but I didn’t--” 

Mira took that moment to claw at the door and let out a low whine, and Richie saying in a rush that he needed to take her out, scooping the puppy into his arms and all but running from the apartment. He didn’t even check to see that the coast was clear, and as a result had to hide around behind the dumpsters and wait for a few passing tenants to climb the stairs and go inside. 

Fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ He’d just licked Stan’s face. He could barely even comprehend the idiocy of it, cursing himself under his breath as Mira sniffed around at the trash.  _ C’mon, Richie. What the hell? _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been forever, but I promise I'm going to post this whole fic. I've just been sick for like a month. Thank you all so much for supporting this story so far, I'm glad you're enjoying it!  
> Extra warning for this chapter: a tiny amount of violence happens (1 punch is thrown)

As Richie often did when he was in disbelief of his own stupidity, he called Beverly. She picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, jackass. What’s up?”

“How much does a hitman cost? You can order those over the dark web or something, right?”

“...Richie. What the fuck?”

“I need someone to take me out. End my existence.”

“Just go back to Derry. I'm sure Bowers would love to finish the job.”

The mention of their old tormentor brought things into perspective, at least a little bit, and Richie sighed.

“What happened?” Beverly asked. “What did you do?”

Richie didn't ask why Beverly had assumed it was himself that fucked something up.

“Do you want the long version, or the short version?” He asked, watching Mira sniff a perimeter around the dumpster.

“Short.” Beverly decided.

“I licked Stan’s face.”

“Richie!”

“There was context! I promise!” Richie regretted not grabbing Mira's leash, having to walk close behind her to keep her hidden behind the apartment building. “It… It made sense, sort of. And then I tried to play it off, but I don't think it went well.” He sighed, reaching up to run a hand through his hair, the action interrupted as he had to bend over and pull a stick out of Mira's mouth instead.

“So what, you took something a little bit too far and now you're panicking?” Beverly asked. “That's what you called me about? Richie, it's fine.”

“No, Bev. You didn't see his face.” The complete shock, the stillness, the wide eyes. Had disgust been there too, or was he just imagining it? “And I have to work a shift with him this evening. Goddamnit.”

“Well…” Beverly had a grin in her voice, but there was also a devious edge to it that Richie recognized. “You could just own it and tell him the truth.”

“The truth?”

“You know. That you want actually want to lick every inch of his naked body.”

“Fuck you.” It was the only thing Richie could think to say, because his face was so red that he couldn't really breathe. He bent to pick Mira up, ready to carry her back up the stairs, and heard a voice in the background of the phone call.

“Um, Beverly? Who are you talking to?”

It was Ben, and he was understandably confused, with only his girlfriend's side of the conversation to listen to. Richie was suddenly put on speaker phone.

“Richie licked Stan.” Beverly reported.

“I… What?”

“It's nothing.” Richie said quickly. “Listen, are you guys free tonight?”

He opened the apartment door and set Mira down, where she rushed into the living room and tackled her rabbit toy, growling and wagging her tail.

“I've got to study for a test.” Ben said after a moment's thought. “I think that's it though.”

“Cool. Could you study over here?”

“Doubtful.”

“I won't be here.”

“Oh. Then yeah, probably. Why?”

“Stan and I both have work tonight, and I just don't want to leave Mira alone. Could you guys watch her for us? Just for a couple of hours.”

“Yeah!” Beverly said quickly. “We'll be right over. Sounds great.”

Richie noticed Ben's lack of agreement, but trusted their relationship enough to accept Beverly's answer for the both of them. After taking a deep breath, Richie called out to Stan, who he assumed was hiding away in his room.

“Ben and Beverly are coming over. They agreed to watch Mira.”

“Okay.” Stan's voice was a little quiet; Richie had to strain slightly to hear it. “You should get ready to go.”

A quick glance at the time told Richie that Stan was right. He changed into his work clothes, hearing Ben and Beverly enter just as he pulled his shirt over his head. He yanked it down as he rushed out to greet them, finding once he arrived that his haste was unnecessary; Stan was already in the living room with them.

“Uh… Hi.” He said dumbly. Silence hung awkwardly in the air, broken quickly by Beverly, who crouched down to coo at Mira. Richie could feel Stan looking at him, but he didn't look back.

“Am I crazy, or is she a ton bigger than she was when I first saw her?” Ben asked.

“She looks bigger than she was two days ago, when I met her.” Beverly said.

“Neither would surprise me.” Stan answered with a sigh. They walked the two of them through the simple matter of her feeding and medication, telling them to let her out every couple of hours because she wasn't house trained yet. They nodded, promising they could do it all, and after Richie made them swear to call him if anything happened, Richie and Stan got in Stan's car and went to work.

It was a short drive, the pizza place close enough for Richie to walk back and forth most of the time. Richie didn't want to chance any awkward silences, turning the radio on, the two of them listening to various commercials nearly the entire way there. Richie wondered if he was overreacting, if the avoidance was making it all worse, but whenever he decided to buck up and say something, he chickened out.

Work wasn't any better. He was able to be loud in front of his coworkers, grinning and cracking jokes that were borderline inappropriate, but Stan moved stiffly around him, and Richie couldn't help but react to him the same way. It was near midnight when their shift ended and it was time to go home, and Richie couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't have ruined everything, he told himself; he'd barely even done anything.

Stan pulled up to the apartment complex and put his car in park. He reached up to take the key from the ignition, but Richie's voice stopped him.

“Do you want me to apologize?”

“...what?” Stan looked over at him, confused by the lack of context, though he seemed a bit tense in the shoulders.

“What?” Richie asked back. “Have I been going crazy all day, or have things been weird?”

Stan was quiet for a moment. “Things have been weird.” He admitted.

“I mean... I just don't get it. I've done worse things than lick you before.”

“Yeah.” Stan gave a small laugh, but there wasn't much humor behind it. “I just wasn't expecting it, I guess.”

“Didn't expect it?” Richie asked. “When I promised that I would do it like five minutes beforehand?”

“I just didn't…” Stan trailed off, reaching up to turn his car off and take the key out of the ignition. The engine died, the air dark and quiet and still. “I didn't expect you to actually _lick_ me.”

Richie would have assumed Stan was talking about the action as a whole, if not for the emphasis. The emphasis on lick. Meaning, if Richie’s smitten-swamped brain was right, Stan had expected something else.

“Would you rather I have kissed you?” He asked before he could stop himself. Stan didn’t answer, his eyes wide, and in a moment of tremendous stupidity Richie leaned over, past the gear shift and the empty cup holders on the center console, and kissed Stan on the lips.

It was short, just long enough to register the touch as _something_ , just long enough to send a jolt of nerves up Richie’s chest, just long enough for him to realize just how incredibly terrible this idea had been. He jumped away, muttering out “there,” and escaping the car as fast as he could manage.

If everything hadn't been ruined before, it was now. But Ben and Beverly were up in the living room and Stan was probably coming up behind him, so he couldn't freak out just yet. He was very close to doing so, but as he opened the door and walked through, the sight he was met with did distract his mind.

His friends were on the couch, completely wrapped around each other. They heard Richie close the door and sprang apart like two teenagers caught doing something very indecent in a very public place.

“Well, hey.” Richie raised his eyebrows at Ben and Beverly's extremely red faces, hearing the door open and close again behind him. Stan. But before he could worry about that, he noticed something else. “Where's my dog?”

The living room and the kitchen were both empty.

“She was here a second ago.” Beverly protested, getting to her feet.

“Ben's hands were in your shirt a second ago.” Richie deadpanned, walking around the couch to get further into the room.

“Okay, a minute ago!” The blush hadn't faded from her face, and Ben hadn't even gotten up. Then they heard a familiar playful growl coming from Richie's room, along with a distinct ripping sound. To Richie's surprise Stan pushed past him, going into Richie's room first. They found Mira tearing into one of Richie's shirts, the piece of clothing all but destroyed. She was having the time of her life, Stan saying a very distinct and commanding “no,” and snatching the shirt up.

“Ignore her.” He told them all. “Not giving attention is the best way for a puppy to realize that she's done something wrong.”

“It's just a shirt, Stan.” Richie protested, because Mira, so excited about them being home, had begun leaping up on their legs and whining loudly, and Richie's self control was crumbling. “I don't mind.”

“Look at it.” Stan tossed the shirt to Richie. The neck hole and sleeves were still attached, but there was a huge hole that would expose a large majority of his chest if worn.

“Hey, it's not so bad.” Richie said. “Hashtag free the nipple, right?”

Stan glanced over at him, began to smile, and then began to laugh.

The shunning of Mira Tozier only lasted ten minutes, but in that time Ben and Beverly said their goodbyes, Richie thanking them for their pet sitting services. Then Stan retrieved Mira's chew toy, a rubbery blue bone, and offered it to her. When she took it in her mouth he praised her and petted her, the puppy flopping onto her back for tummy rubs.

“We need to teach her what she can and can't chew on.” Stan explained. “Some dogs will eat a chunk of their couch or something, and then it'll get stuck in some intestine, and they need surgery to get it taken out. We don't want that.”

“Oh.” Richie said. “Yeah. We don't.” It was hard not to stare at Stan, and Richie had to wonder what was happening. Stan was just sitting on the floor with the puppy, talking like everything was normal.

“I looked into it last night, stuff we might want to teach her.” Stan began, getting up to sit on the couch. He paused halfway through the motion, glancing cautiously at Richie. “I can sit down, right? Beverly and Ben, they weren't…”

He left the rest of the question to insinuation, and Richie laughed.

“It's fine! All clothes were on, and stuff.”

Gingerly, Stan sat. Richie busied himself with Mira on the floor, petting her little body all over as she crawled around his lap.

“Not to chew and bite inhibition seem like the most important ones to me.” Stan continued. “For her to only play with her toys, and not to play too rough. Along with making sure she's housebroken of course, but we're already working on that.”

Richie nodded a bit, feeling at a loss for words. His phone buzzed before he could think of something to say, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

_From: Lavagirl_   
_I'm sorry Richie_   
_We did a good job watching her I SWEAR you just happened to walk in the one time we weren't giving her our complete attention_

Richie had to laugh a bit. Stan gave him a curious look.

“What is it?” He asked.

“Oh, Bev’s just apologizing, that's all. As if I haven't seen Ben's tongue before.”

Stan laughed too, getting to his feet.

“I'm going to take a shower. Look around the kitchen for something we can have for dinner, would you? I'm really not in the mood for takeout.”

“Yeah, sure.” Richie watched as Stan walked off, still feeling slightly lost. That… That was it? They were pretending like nothing happened? Richie was relieved, sure, but he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, too.

_To: Lavagirl_  
_It's fine! There aren't any accidents on the rug and she got her food and her meds, and that's all I really care about  
Though if you ever do get it on in our apartment just tell us what upholstery to wash_

_From: Lavagirl_  
_Oh my god shut up_  
_The whole evening was really domestic I promise  
That was part of the problem actually Ben was being really sweet and talking about a future and buying a house and I just_

_To: Lavagirl  
He was talking about mortgage and you got all hot and steamy? Y'all are so weird _

_From: Lavagirl  
Speaking of weird, are you alright? Something seemed off. _

Nothing slipped past Beverly, apparently. Mira picked up her rabbit toy and ran over to him, Richie wrestling with her as he thought of a way to respond. Finally, he decided that if Stan was going to pretend everything was fine, then so would he.

_To: Lavagirl_  
_Nah, I'm good. Maybe I just still had my customer service face on or something. Don't worry about me, Bev._

 

The next day, Richie had to go to class. Though it wasn't his first time being away from Mira, it almost felt that way. Stan sent him a few photos throughout the day of Mira playing or sleeping, one of the pictures even showing a training session, Mira sitting attentively, her eye transfixed on a treat Stan was holding that was just barely in the frame. While adorable, the pictures also made Richie want to go home all the more, and he wondered briefly if this was how parents felt about their children.

That night, curled up in bed with Mira's body splayed across his legs, Richie set up a Craigslist ad for her. He tried to make it as uninteresting as possible, leaving out any pictures and wording everything in a way that was short and to the point. He set the price as 'negotiable’ because truly, he didn't know, and ended up listing Stan’s phone as the number to send inquiries to. He knew that if he got any texts or calls from someone interested in taking Mira away, he wouldn't be able to stand it.

Over the next two weeks, Mira settled into their lives pretty well. Despite everything Richie had read online, she was taking to the training they were giving her. It wasn't really out of a desperation to please though, and more of a desperation for attention, Stan’s shunning method working rather well. Two more of Richie's shirts, along with two and a half pairs of shoes, were sacrificed before Mira's destructive habits were confined to just her toys, though they did still have to reprimand her for mouthing on things every once and awhile. Richie's attempts to get her to play nicer were going more slowly, but once he read up about the method behind it, Mira began getting gentler and gentler with her teeth.

Mira's training attitude seemed rather confined to Richie and Stan though, Stan being the main disciplinary force in the house. Unless they had a treat in hand, Ben and Beverly's attempts to get Mira to do much of anything were pointedly ignored. Richie found it rather funny, and couldn't say it didn't make him feel special. Despite this attitude though, Richie noticed Ben warming up to Mira quite a bit, and that put a smile on his face.

Richie could barely believe how fast Mira was growing. With an increase of size came an increase of everything else, with shedding, energy, and appetite being the ones most noticable. While she tired easily with her leg still on the mend, daily walks became a must. Leaving and re-entering the apartment complex were always stressful moments, Richie murmuring “what dog? I don't have a dog,” to himself like a chant and navigating the stairs as fast as he could. It was always much easier when Stan went with them, acting as lookout during the dog smuggling.

The shedding was what bothered Stan the most. It was a near constant occurrence, and as a result, dust bunnies of dog hair began developing in every corner of every room. Being two college age boys, neither owned a vacuum cleaner.

“It's uncontrollable. Her fur gets everywhere.” Stan complained, a blissfully ignorant Mira asleep in his lap as he sat on the couch. He lifted his hand from where it had been resting next to his thigh, making a face and wiping it on his jeans. “She's drooly, too.”

“She's a dog, Stan.” Richie said, without looking up from his biochemistry homework. “I don't know what you expected.”

Stan took to brushing her every night. At first, the extra attention was cause for excitement, and with Mira running around and nipping at Stan's fingers, the whole operation was incredibly ineffective. But then Stan took to waiting until the evening, when all of Mira's energy had already run its course, and it became a relaxing activity instead. The tension would leave Stan's shoulders as he worked, Mira often even falling asleep halfway through the process. When that happened Stan would stay with her for a little while, petting or cradling her, even once kissing her on the head when he thought Richie wasn't watching. Richie swore he felt his heart explode.

When those two weeks had run their course, April now upon them, it was time to bring Mira back to the animal hospital to get her leg checked up on and her sutures removed. Richie and Stan found a Friday morning when they were both free and scheduled the appointment, bringing her in together. Richie noticed his receptionist friend sitting behind her desk and absolutely beaming at them, and with a sick jolt of fear, realized that she would want to bring up their inside joke again. Except Richie still hadn't told Stan.

“Hey,” Richie said lowly, catching Stan by the jacket sleeve as they walked in. “I have something you need to know.”

“...what?” Stan gave him a quizzical look.

“That receptionist there? The one staring at us? Well…” Richie couldn't think of a good way to say it, so he said it as plainly as he could. “When I came here with Ben, she thought we were dating. You and I, I mean.”

“Okay?”

“And… I didn't correct her.”

“Oh.” Stan was silent for a long moment, Richie waiting for him to get mad, or creeped out, like Ben said he would be. But neither happened. Stan just said “okay,” and walked straight up to the reception desk.

“Okay?” Richie muttered to himself, having no idea what that was supposed to mean, hurrying up behind him.

“Mira Tozier, here for her recheck.” Stan told the receptionist with a smile.

“Oh, of course I know who you are.” She responded, smiling back. “Long time, no see for you!”

“I've been working.”

“Yes, I've heard. The what, backbone of the household?” The receptionist gave Richie a look that meant she was absolutely enjoying herself, but all Richie could manage was a weak smile back. What was happening?

“Well, I wouldn't have to work so much if he picked up extra shifts, like I do.” Stan lied, looking over at Richie with what could only be described as affection, reaching over and mussing up his hair. Richie could feel himself turning beet red, and the receptionist, looking delighted, got from her seat and said she would notify the doctor of their arrival.

“Do you think she bought it?” Stan asked as they went to sit down.

“Bought it?” It took Richie a second to find his voice. “She didn't need to buy anything, I just--”

“Yeah, but did you see how happy she was?” Stan grinned a little, and Richie couldn't help but watch him, feeling hopelessly confused. “I don't mind. Hey, she might even give us a discount or something.”

Dumbfounded, Richie simply nodded. Thankfully, he was able to pull himself out of his surprise by the time the vet technician arrived, and their appointment started. They found out that Mira had grown a full eight pounds since she'd left the hospital, putting her weight in the lower thirties. Her eye had healed up well, the veterinarian delighted by that; the skin had completely sealed, her hair already beginning to grow back. Nothing had disturbed her broken leg either, the bones still all set correctly, being told to return in three weeks time to see if they could take the cast off. All in all, everything was fine. Richie beamed with pride.

“Now that her injuries are healing, it's likely that you'll see an increase in her energy, as she can return to acting like a normal puppy.” The veterinarian told them, and Richie nodded.

“We've definitely seen that.”

“Then it would do no harm to take her on walks. Though, due to her size, it would also be good to begin training her to heel; that is a habit she needs to have by the time she's big enough to pull you off your feet.”

Nodding a bit, Richie thanked them and they were able to go back home. They made it out of the car and halfway up the stairs before a loud voice stopped them.

“Uris! Tozier! What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Richie froze, trying to look innocent, trying to keep the wince off his face as he turned to greet their landlord, a short, balding, and angry-looking man standing at the bottom of the steps.

“Good afternoon!” He tried, passing Mira's leash quickly over to Stan.

“Is that a dog?” Their landlord asked.

“It is! It's not our dog though, Mr…” Richie realized in a moment of wild stupidity that he couldn't remember the man's name. Stan, who hadn't yet turned around, gave Richie a grimace that told him he didn't remember the name either, and when the landlord didn't offer it over, Richie simply had to continue on. “...sir. It's my sister's dog. She asked me to watch her for the night. Just for one night! And I figured, since she's not technically living here, it would be--”

“No!” The man looked hopping mad. “Didn't you read the rent agreement? No pet policy! That means no pets!”

“But--”

“No! You bring that dog down these steps now. You'll have to shack it up somewhere else for the night. I don't care where, but it's not staying here.”

The throbbing vein in the man's temple didn't leave them with much room for argument. Unsure of where else to go, they piled back into Stan's car. Richie suggested the nearest fast food place, and they were off.

They ended up at Sonic, somewhere Richie hadn't been since he was a kid. They got two milkshakes, a double order of fries, and a small vanilla ice cream for Mira, who lapped up the new treat eagerly.

“What do we do?” Stan asked. His eyes caught the midday sun as he looked over at Richie, lighting up in beautiful brown and green and gold. Richie cleared his throat loudly and looked away, popping the lid off his milkshake. He took three fries, dunked them all in the drink, then put them all in his mouth.

“We’ll just go back later.” He said, Stan giving him an expression that very clearly said 'don’t talk with your mouth full’. He swallowed. “That guy probably thinks we're dumb, but not so dumb that we'd try to smuggle the same dog into the same apartment twice in one day. He won't be looking out for us.”

“He will for a couple of hours, though.” Stan took a long drink from his milkshake straw. “What do we do until then? I would say walk Mira for a little while, but I don't really feel comfortable doing that along the side of the road.”

“I think we should sit here, and finish up our fries and milkshakes.” Richie began. The word “walk” had suddenly reminded him of something. “Then go back to the apartment. I have something in the woods I need to show you.”

Stan gave him a critical once-over.

“If this is some joke about your dick or something--”

“No!” Richie felt his face turn pink, though he didn't know why he was embarrassed. Dick jokes were nothing new. “It's actually something. It's kinda serious, really.”

Stan raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask any following questions. He turned back to his milkshake, drinking from it again, and suddenly began to laugh.

“What?” Richie asked him.

“I just…” Stan reached over to get some fries, two of them between his fingers as he looked up at Richie, grinning, an incredulous sort of amusement behind his words. “I just can't believe we couldn't remember our landlord's name.”

That had Richie laughing too.

“I know! I seriously have no idea. Mr… Mr. Calver? Clemson? Something like that?”

“Didn't it start with an 'H’?” Stan asked back, and Richie shrugged.

“Probably. Maybe.”

They gave suggestions back and forth, the quality of the guesses slowly devolving into jokes. Richie's suggestion of “Mr. Bulging Neck-Vein” made Stan spit milkshake all over the table, and they had to ask a server for napkins. Finally though they got to their feet, cleaned up their table, and got back in Stan's car. He parked on the opposite side of their apartment building, and the three of them snuck off into the woods.

“How far is it? Stan asked, and Richie didn't know what to say. He wasn't even sure he was walking in the right direction; he hadn't really been paying attention while talking to Eddie on the phone. After a few minutes of silence, Stan spoke again.

“Can you at least tell me where we're going? Because this kind of feels like the first five minutes of Law and Order, or something. We're either going to get killed, or find a dead body.”

In spite of himself, that made Richie laugh.

“I think I found where Mira came from.” He said. “The day before I found her, I was on a walk, and I came across something that looked a lot like her. Some fuzzy animal in the creek. I couldn't really tell what it was, though. And I didn't try to get too close, because it was already dead. Maybe it had been for a while.”

The mood had sobered up, Stan watching him. Richie shrugged a little.

“I was talking to Eddie the other day, and walking around this area, and… I kinda stumbled upon something. I think it was a puppy mill.”

There was silence as the words sunk in.

“And Mira's a purebred dog, isn't she?” Stan asked quietly. Richie nodded.

“Yeah. Think so.”

Richie saw Stan nod out of the corner of his eye. They walked in silence, and then Richie heard barking. He followed the sound, Stan right behind him, and again, at the sight of the place, Richie's stomach lurched, an uneasy, queasy feeling setting in.

“Shit.” Stan murmured, while Mira's ears perked up at the sight of other dogs. “Richie… Richie, this is…”

“I know. I when I looked it up, it said that puppy mills are technically legal, but Beverly said that the really bad ones could be shut down. I don't know what to do.”

“There's no way this is okay.” Stan said. He pulled his phone from his pocket, typing quickly, pausing at a realization. “If this is where Mira is from, does that mean that whoever runs this place is the person that tried to kill her?”

“I… I don't know.” Richie hadn't considered that before. “Maybe, yeah.”

“We have to shut this place down.” There was a surprisingly vehemence in Stan's voice as he scrolled through web pages, reading quickly. “We should take pictures, look around… Get evidence and stuff.”

Richie nodded, pulling his own phone out.

“Stay here.” He told Stan, holding Mira's leash out to him when he began to protest. “Stay here with Mira. Don't worry; I'll be in and out before you know it.”

Stan frowned, but didn't argue. As quietly as he could, Richie crept forward.

His presence caused an uproar among the dogs. They all began barking as soon as they saw him, and Richie soon gave up on trying to be discreet, instead taking pictures of as many horrible things as he could, and as quickly as possible. With each step things looked worse and worse, and it wasn't long before he was discovered.

“Hey!” A rough shout made him jump. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing on my property?”

Richie spun, met with the sight of a man, long and thin like himself. This man was older, maybe closer to forty, walking with a slight limp. His face was nearly completely covered with a bushy brown mustache and beard, a baseball cap pulled low over his head.

“Oh, you know.” Richie shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “A little of this, a little of that.”

“This is private property.” The man growled, walking closer. “I will have you arrested for trespassing, you snot-nosed kid!”

There were dark, rust-colored splotches on the man's tan boots, and whether or not the stains were blood, that's what they looked like. Anger flared in Richie's stomach.

“Not if I get you arrested first.” He said, holding up his phone. “I know some people in law enforcement who would be very interested in what's on my camera roll.”

Richie, of course, didn't know anyone, but the words struck a nerve.

“Give me that!” The man yelled, running in Richie's direction. Richie had to dash to the side to avoid him, turning and jumping back, and in the confusion he didn't know what way to run in order to leave the way he came.

In his disoriented state he didn't have time to dodge the arm that flew in his direction; pain blossomed from Richie's mouth as the man's fist connected with his jaw, feeling what seemed like every one of his teeth puncturing his lower lip. His mouth filled with the taste of copper and he spat out red, gasping. Richie wasn't a stranger to being punched in the face, but it hadn't happened in years, stumbling backwards and keeping his head down. The man grabbed at his arm, his grip closing around the wrist of the hand Richie had holding his phone. He twisted, Richie letting out a shout of pain, dropping his cell phone to the ground. He had enough of his wits about him to kick the phone away when it landed near his foot, and that made the man release him. But Richie knew he was faster, scrambling over, falling to his knees to pick the device up.

With a growl, a mass of brown fur came streaking towards them. Richie managed to grab hold of Mira just before she leapt at the man; he didn't want her to bite him. He didn't want her to bite anyone.

Stan was standing at the edge of the trees, white-faced. Richie struggled to get his legs under him, setting Mira down in favor of holding her leash, and they ran full force in Stan's direction. When Richie reached him he didn't slow down, cutting off the beginning of whatever Stan was trying to say by grabbing his hand, and the three of them made a break for it.

The man hurled curses at them, but didn't give chase. Through all of the adrenaline and fear, Richie felt a strange laugh bubble from his mouth, and it did bubble; his rapid breathing was causing the blood behind his lips to froth and blister.

“Richie.” They were out of the trees by the time Stan found his voice. He had tears stinging his eyes, his breathing labored. “Richie, let go of my hand.”

The request took Richie by surprise so much that he followed immediately, releasing him. He didn’t know how to feel about it, but when he saw Stan’s hand, that worry was gone and replaced by a newer, stronger one. Stan’s palm was ripped with rope burn, doubtlessly from Mira’s leash, and Richie had been holding it, pressing into it.

“I’m so sorry.” He gasped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

Stan just shook the apology off, neither of them speaking again until they were safely inside their apartment. Stan locked the door behind them and Richie sank to his knees, exhausted. Mira was on him instantly, whining and licking at his face, and while the concern was appreciated, it did hurt.

“Richie--” Stan began, about to crouch and help him up, but Richie shook his head.

“No. You go wash your hand off. I’m okay.”

Stan gave him one, long look before going to the kitchen sink. Richie pulled himself to his feet, making it to a kitchen chair before sitting down again.

“Are you okay?” Stan asked, without turning around.

“Yeah.” Richie answered. “I mean, my lip’s a little busted up, but that’s happened before. I’ll live.”

When Stan turned back to him, he was holding a warm washcloth. He approached Richie’s face with it, but when Richie tried to bat him away, Stan grabbed his wrist and forced his arm back down.

“Let me.” He insisted, so Richie did. The washcloth was rough against his swollen, broken skin, but he didn’t say anything. The moment felt too fragile; Richie held his tongue.

When Stan moved away, turning to rinse the bloody washcloth off in the sink, Richie deemed it safe to speak up.

“Is your hand okay? What happened?”

Stan sighed.

“I'll be fine.” He said. “We heard the guy's voice first, and Mira's hackles just instantly went up. I don't know if she remembered him or what, but she didn't like him at all. And then we heard you yell, and there wasn't anything I could do. I didn't expect her to move so fast. I didn't even know she could, honestly, with her leg and everything. I didn't have the handle of the leash around my wrist; I was just holding onto the rope. She ripped it out of my hand.”

“Sorry.”

Stan simply looked at him for a moment, bunching his lips up before straightening them again, as though rolling Richie's apology around in his mouth.

“It's fine.” He said, moving towards the freezer to get ice for Richie's still-swelling lip. “It's not your fault.”

Richie decided to ignore the fact that yeah, it kind of was.

They crowded around Richie's laptop together and tried to find the best way to report what they saw. They ended up finding a form they could submit on the ASPCA website, Stan filling it out while Richie complained about just how cold the ice pack was.

“Of course it's cold. It has ice in it.”

“But what if my mouth goes numb?”

“Then maybe you'll shut up for once.”

“Stan!” He whined, removing the ice from his face. “My lips are freezing! This is your fault. You should warm them up for me.”

If this had been a month ago, Stan would have laughed or rolled his eyes or shoved him off the couch. Now though, Stan went silent and still and Richie regretted saying anything, feeling as though he'd broken their unspoken agreement to not talk about the kiss in the car. Instead of sitting in awkward silence, Richie shifted topics without any ease or eloquence.

“Anyway, I've been meaning to ask you… The Craigslist ad? Has anyone responded to it? I put your name and number for the contact information.”

“Oh, thanks.” Stan said dryly. “I'm so glad that any random person on the internet now has access my phone number. But no, to answer your question. Nobody's called about her.”

“Really?” Richie had been avoiding even thinking about the offer he'd posted to sell Mira away, not wanting to bring it up to Stan for fear that someone wanted to negotiate prices, or something. He'd been a bit surprised that Stan hadn't mentioned it either, but had told himself not to question his luck. A lack of responses explained that, though. He looked over at the puppy in question, who was chasing her tail, becoming confused whenever the tail switched over to her right side and she couldn't see it anymore. She looked hilarious, and Richie's heart ached a little. “Who wouldn't want her?”

“I don't know.” Stan shrugged, returning his eyes to the form on the computer screen. “I mean, it does sort of make sense. She still has a cast on her leg, and we said we would foster her until she was all healed, right?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Stan looked over him, a little grin growing on his face that made Richie's heart skip a beat or two.

“What?” He had to ask.

“You just…” Stan gestured to his injured face. “You look terrible.”

“How dare you?” Richie drew himself up and puffed out his chest, trying to imitate an overly pompous English gentleman. “You're making a mockery, after I so valiantly defended my lady’s honor?”

“Making a mockery?” Stan asked back, raising an amused eyebrow, obviously surprised by the phrase. “And which one of us is your lady? Me or Mira?

“You, obviously.” Richie said, and Stan laughed. “Mira can hold her own, I think.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof this is one of my fave chapters, I hope you all enjoy it!

Three weeks later, Mira's cast was taken off. She was forty-seven pounds of happy, healthy fluff, and Richie loved her so much he could barely stand it. She still slept on Richie's bed, the puppy habit only further enforced now that she didn't have anything impeding her jump up onto his mattress. Despite her taking up most of the space, Richie found he didn't mind.

She went on long evening walks, which became more and more enjoyable as the warmth of May approached. Richie wrestled with her for her toys, and she enjoyed training games, but her favorite activity was still to be brushed by Stan. She would turn to complete putty in his lap, on her back with her paws in the air, tail wagging lazily.

“She's not a lap dog.” Stan would say, frowning down at her, but he looked more resigned and amused than any type of annoyed.

“She's in your lap, isn't she?” Richie pointed out.

“Yeah, sure, but what about when she's fully grown? She'll lay down on your legs and crush everything in between.”

Richie considered the scenario for a moment. 

“Worth it.” He declared. Stan shook his head.

“Your future children won't agree with you. If they're even something that could happen anymore.” 

“Eh.” Richie shrugged. “Mira's my child right now, so whatever she wants wins out.” 

Though Richie never asked again about the Craigslist ad, Stan updated him once a week, bringing it up just to tell him that he still hadn’t received any offers. Richie began hoping against hope, wanting nothing more than for the listing to have fallen in with the other horny singles and used furniture, left unanswered and forgotten. He didn’t know what they would do with Mira if nobody came forward to take her, but just like with the ad in the first place, he didn’t want to think about that, so he didn’t. 

Richie was sitting in class, trying to get his mind to focus on something about electrons and polarity when Stan texted him. It was nothing but a link, the web address looking like it was for an article from the local news website. He read the title in disbelief.

_ Puppy Mill Hiding in University of Maine Woods Taken Down _

He scrolled through the article quickly, recognizing the photos used in it as the ones they'd sent to the police station. The mugshot of the irresponsible breeder sent a chill through Richie and his lip, long since healed, twinging slightly as he stared down at the photo of the bearded man. The tip-off was accredited to an anonymous source, since Richie hadn’t wanted his or Stan’s names involved, and concluded by saying that all of the dogs had been rescued, being treated at hospitals for their various diseases and soon to be up for adoption. 

_ To: S(a)tan  
Holy shit. HOLY. SHIT. WE DID IT. WE DID IT _

He sent a similar message, along with the link, into the groupchat with all of their friends. He and Stan had told them about the incident after it had happened (it was hard to keep to themselves once Beverly had seen Richie’s injured face) and the messages they got back were happy and congratulatory. Beverly and Ben were beyond excited, coming over that evening with a couple cases of beers and a tumultuous amount of positive energy. The impromptu party both confused and excited Mira, and after getting noise complaints from all of the apartments around them for their loud music, the happy visitors congratulated them once again and went home.

“This is…” Stan sat down on the couch, swaying slightly. He was drunk; not a lot, but enough to lose his balance more easily than usual. Richie was feeling the effects of the alcohol too, grinning widely at Stan, his body feeling light but his head feeling heavy, openly admiring the curve of Stan's nose. “This is crazy. Richie, my life is fucking crazy.” 

“Me too.” Richie said, though he wasn't really sure what Stan meant, and therefore didn't know what he was agreeing with. 

“I mean… I have a dog now, all of a sudden, and I helped put a man in jail… But he was an asshole, so that's okay. But… I'm living with you, of all people--”

“Thanks.” Richie said, Stan nodding in his direction.

“--and I even got out of Derry. I'm so fucking happy that I got out of Derry.” Stan frowned for a moment, thoughtfulness in his face, and Richie had the wild urge to kiss the expression from his lips. “Bill and Mike are still in Derry.”

“Yeah.” Richie shrugged. “But Bill wanted to stay near Georgie and Mike works on the farm. They go to the community college though. They say it's okay.”

Stan gasped in inspiration, turning to Richie in excitement.

“We should visit them. Right now.”  

That was the best idea Richie had ever heard. He was one second away from jumping to his feet when Stan put a hand on his arm.

“Wait. We can't.”

“But it's not that far away! You could drive.”

“I can't drive. I would get arrested.” 

That was true. Richie slumped in his seat, and Stan fell into a contemplative silence. 

“I just feel…” Stan kept trailing off, his thoughts seemingly incomplete, forming as he tried to say them. “I know this is just the alcohol because almost never feel like this, but… Right now I want to do that. I want to pick up and drive somewhere, or I don't know…” He frowned again. “I just want to do something stupid.”

His hand was still on Richie's arm. Richie's next words were out of his mouth before his intoxicated brain had time to consider the consequences.

“I'm something stupid.” 

Stan stared at him for what might have been a full minute.

“Yeah.” He finally said. “You are.”

Richie stared back, and it wasn't until he felt Stan's grip tighten on his bicep that he realized Stan was leaning closer. Richie leaned in to meet him, so close now that he could have counted Stan's eyelashes if he had the patience, if he wasn't so sure that Stan was about to kiss him. Stan's nose brushed against his, a silent question of permission, and Richie closed his eyes.

Something big, fuzzy, and warm slammed into Richie's chest, knocking him into the back of the couch. It was Mira, decidedly done being ignored, shoving her head against Richie's and licking him, knocking his glasses askew. By the time his glasses were cleaned off and back on his face, Mira had positioned herself comfortably between himself and Stan, Stan giving her much-appreciated butt scratches. She laid her head in Richie's lap and looked up at him imploringly, and she was so precious, so pure and adorable, that Richie felt his eyes welling up. 

“I love you so much.” He told her, taking her head in his hands and kissing her on the forehead. “Could you imagine, if I hadn't found you? I'd be less happy, and I wouldn't even know why.”

It took Richie a full half hour to stop crying over how much he loved his puppy. In that time both Mira and Stan were more than half asleep, Mira only moving to nudge Richie’s hand every time he stopped petting her, and Stan blinking slow, his eyelids drooping, sitting quietly. Richie propped his feet up on the coffee table and closed his eyes, already knowing that when they woke up the next morning, whatever had happened between himself and Stan tonight, they wouldn’t talk about it. 

 

 

Since Mira wasn't destructive anymore, they began leaving her in the apartment alone whenever work and school got in the way of being around her twenty-four seven. Richie was very nervous about doing it the first time, but when he came home and everything was fine, he began easing into the idea. Mira was housebroken, and at a solid fifty pounds, didn't have any trouble holding her bladder for a couple of hours. The only time they came home to something to clean up was when she got carried away playing in her water bowl.

She was always overjoyed when Richie came home, but that feeling seemed to be amplified when he came home after she'd been left alone. She always jumped up onto him, nearly knocking him backwards. She jumped on Stan too, and while Stan was trying to train her out of it, saying she would get too big for it to be cute, Richie didn't care; if being barreled over by one hundred and thirty pounds of dog was how he was going to go one day, then so be it.

About a week into this new development, a girl with curly blonde hair that Richie recognized from down the hall stopped him on his way up the stairs.

“Hey.” She looked troubled for a moment. “Do you and your roommate have a dog?”

Nerves tightened uncomfortably in Richie's chest.

“Why do you ask?” He decided to say. Not confirming, not denying. The look on her face when he said that made him realize that being discreet was useless; she already knew.

“Well dog or not, something is barking in your apartment sometimes.” She said, looping her thumbs around her backpack straps, and the bottom fell from Richie's stomach. “It's really loud. Mr. Hotchner noticed it today; I heard him yelling about it while I was getting ready for class. Just thought I should warn you.” 

“Oh. Yeah.” Richie swallowed, his throat suddenly incredibly dry. “Thanks for the heads up.” 

She nodded back, the look on her face a little concerned, and continued on her way. Richie made it upstairs, unlocking his apartment, Mira there to pounce on him as soon as the door opened.

“Hey girl.” He ruffled the fur on the sides of her face with both hands. “Have you been barking while you're here alone? You really can't do that. That's really, really bad.” 

Mira was a very quiet dog usually, almost to the point where Richie wondered if it was abnormal. She only barked if she got overexcited while playing, and even then it wasn’t more than once or twice. But loneliness, being in the apartment by herself, seemed to be bringing out the louder side of her.

She seemed to pick up on his distress and anxiety, licking at his hands for a moment before running off and grabbing her (now headless) rabbit toy, trying to give it to him. Richie didn't know what to do. Should he take Mira out for the day, and walk around with her until the sun went down? Even so, he couldn't evade the landlord forever if he already knew. The best course of action he could think of was to text Stan for help, checking the clock. His shift had been over for roughly five minutes; he'd be home soon. He would know what to do, right?

_ To: S(a)tan  
He knows. Our landlord knows (the fucko’s name is Hotchner?? I think??) and apparently Mira's been barking and he knows about her and what the fuck do I do _

Stan didn't answer and Richie began pacing, Mira following behind him as he repeatedly walked the length of the living room, pawing at him and whining. He felt too scrambled to try and think of a solution, jumping a foot into the air and putting a protective hand on Mira’s collar when the door opened. 

“I was driving, so I couldn’t answer.” It was Stan, fresh from work with his phone in his hand, and Richie walked up to meet him. “He knows? How did you find out?”

“That blonde girl on our floor told me.” 

“Stacy? How did she know?” 

“Mira was barking, and she heard the landlord get mad about it. If he already knows then what do we do, Stan?” 

Before Stan had even opened his mouth, there was a pounding on their front door. 

“Uris! Tozier! Open up!” 

“Fuck. One minute!” Richie called out, then turned desperately to Stan. “What do we do?”

“Put Mira in your room.” Stan spoke quickly, his face already a mask of innocent surprise; it was a testament to how well Richie knew him that he could tell Stan was nervous. He led Mira into his bedroom, the puppy’s tail wagging slowly, her eye trained on Richie’s face.

“It’s okay.” He told her, as if she knew what he was saying, as if it would make a difference. He closed his bedroom door, hearing Stan open the apartment door for their landlord. 

“Good afternoon--” He tried, but was cut off almost immediately.

“Does someone want to explain to me what the hell is going on in here?” His voice was loud and obviously angry. 

“So sorry Mr. Hotchner, but…” Richie tried to give him a grin at the mention of his name, but he obviously didn't find the fact that Richie now knew his name to be very funny. Richie continued on. “What is this in reference to?”

Despite their situation, Stan shot Richie a look for the wording he'd used. 

“There’s a dog here.” Mr. Hotchner said shortly. “Where is it?”

Richie considered completely denying the accusation, but he was very aware of Mira's toys lying out on the floor, her food and water bowls in the kitchen next to the fridge. 

“She isn’t here.” He said instead. “She was. You probably don’t remember, but about a month ago Stan and I had this dog--”

“And you tried to take it into your apartment and I told you not to. I remember.”

Richie swallowed. This guy was not in a good mood. He tried to smile.

“Yes! That. Well, she’s my sister’s dog. She just stayed the night, is all.” He could tell Mr. Hotchner wasn’t buying it, but he had to press on. “And I figured, since she isn’t technically living here, it would be okay.”

“It’s not okay. And you know what I think? I think I see a leash here,” he pointed to the hooks by the door where they hung their coats, and sure enough, Mira’s leash was hanging there too, “and a brush,” he pointed to that too, resting on the coffee table, “and too much dog hair on the floor for this animal to only be occasionally visiting. Pets aren’t allowed to live here. You two are well within violation of your rent agreement.”

“Hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’d only be violating it if there was a dog here.” Richie spread his arms out. “I don’t see one. Do you?”

At that moment, Mira grew tired of being cooped up without cause, whining loudly and scratching at Richie’s bedroom door. Mr. Hotchner raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed and his nostrils flaring.

“You want to try that defense again, Tozier? Bring the animal out here.” 

Richie sent a glance at Stan, who looked helplessly back. There wasn’t really anything that could be done, so Richie went and opened his bedroom door. Mira walked out, wagging and looking at Richie. When she noticed the unfamiliar man however, her tail stopped, watching him warily as she walked over to Stan. She didn’t look particularly aggressive, but Stan took a cautious grip around her collar anyways. Mr. Hotchner sighed, putting his hands on his hips.

“What the hell, you two. Come on. Now I’ve got to evict you guys. You know you can’t have pets; I could not have made that more clear.”

“She’s mine.” Richie blurted. “She’s mine. Just mine. Stan had nothing to do with it, I swear. Don’t kick him out.” 

Stan sent Richie a wide-eyed, questioning glance. Mr. Hotchner frowned and rounded on him.

“Nothing to do with it? He’s kept a dog here for at least a month. He’s as guilty as you are.” 

“He’s not!” Richie was desperate to get this to work. Mr. H could evict him, but he wasn’t touching Stan. “I brought her here without his permission. It’s my name on her vet bills, and my phone number on her tags. I made him keep her. It’s all my fault.” 

The words were all true, and maybe their landlord could tell, his expression getting slightly more serious as his eyes narrowed. 

“Made him? How in the hell did you do that?”

Stan knew what he was trying to do, catching his eye and shaking his head. Richie didn’t care; he wasn’t going to let Stan take the blame for this.

“I, uh… You know, made him. I told him that if he didn’t let me keep this dog, then…” The desperate wracking of his brain rendered nothing, continuing weakly. “No sex.”

The man blanched. “Excuse me?” 

“No dog, no sex. Those were the rules.” 

Stan was blushing up to his ears, but all that did was help along what Richie had said, and Mr. Hotchner shook his head, throwing his hands up.

“Is this all just a joke to you?” Before Richie could answer, he just kept talking. “You know what? I don’t care. If you want to take the fall for this, fine. As long as it gets you to shut up. When is your semester over?” 

“About a week from now.” Stan supplied quietly. “Next week is finals week, and then the spring semester ends.”

“Fine. Out of the goodness of my heart, Tozier, I’ll let you stay until your exams are over. But then you’re out, and you can’t renew your contract. Understand?” 

Richie nodded, letting out a quiet breath of relief. Stan was safe. Stan could keep living here. What Richie himself was going to do, he had no idea, but at least he’d managed to secure that much.

“And the dog has to go. Immediately.”

“...immediately?” Richie echoed. “Like… Right now, immediately? We don’t have anywhere to put her!” 

“Does that sound like my problem?” Hotchner asked back. “I don’t care. But it needs to be out of here, and it cannot come back, do you understand me?” 

Richie was ready to argue, but Stan didn’t let him, cutting across him before he could open his mouth.

“Yes, we understand. Come on Richie, we need to get her stuff together.”

So they did, under the watchful eye of their landlord, packing all of Mira’s belongings into Richie’s old duffle bag. They took it all outside and put it in Stan’s car, Richie resisting the urge he had to flip Mr. Hotchner off as the three of them reversed out of the parking lot. 

“What a fucking dick!” He shouted, letting out a loud breath. “What the fuck, seriously? What do we do now?”

“...no sex?” Stan asked back, after being quiet for a moment. “What… What the hell?”

“I thought maybe gay sex would distract him from the dog in the room.”

“Not when the dog is the size of a wildebeest, Richie.” 

They drove on in silence.

“Hey, where are we going?” Richie finally asked. Stan shrugged hopelessly.

“I don’t know. Nowhere. I just knew we needed to get out of there, before he kicked you out on the spot instead of letting you finish your finals first.”

Richie let out a fast breath through his nose.

“‘Out of the goodness of my heart’. Yeah right, you bastard.” He thought for a moment. “Could we take her to the hospital, maybe? They like her over there, maybe they would let her stay.”

“That would be too expensive for us.” Stan said. “We probably don’t have the money to board her anywhere.”

“Stash her at Ben and Bev’s?”

“Their apartment is pet-free too. We can’t risk doing this to them.” Stan frowned in thought. “Hey, Richie?”

“Yeah?” 

“Remember how I wanted to visit Bill and Mike?” 

Richie’s mouth suddenly went dry. They’d avoided talking of anything that had happened that night so thoroughly that Richie found himself doubting if Stan even remembered it. Apparently though, he did. He nodded.

“Do you think Mike would be able to take her for a little while?” 

That was actually a fantastic idea, Richie pulling out his phone and dialing Mike’s number. He picked up easily.

“Hey man! It's been a while. What’s up?” 

“Hi. You know that dog I have?”

“Of course I do. We all do. I really can’t wait to meet her, by the way. When is that happening?”

“Actually… I think it’s your lucky day.” Richie couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Our apartment is kind of pet-free, and by ‘kind of’ I mean ‘extremely’, and ‘super strict about it’, and… There was a bit of an incident. We need somewhere to put her for a little while, until we get this sorted out. Can she come live with you, on the farm? We’ll give you her food and everything.” 

“Oh. Yeah, of course.” Mike didn’t even think on it for a moment. “As long as she gets along with Maisie, I can’t see it being a problem at all.”

Maisie was Mike’s German Shepard, a birthday present from all the Losers on his eighteenth birthday. She’d been a puppy then, and was two year old dog now. 

“Thank you.” Richie said, Stan glancing over immediately. “Thank you so much.”

“Yeah!” There was a smile in Mike’s voice. “It’ll be fun, I’m sure. Are you guys coming down here with her, or should I drive up and get her?”

Richie found himself momentarily floored. He’d never been able to understand how an asshole like himself had ended up with a best friend like Mike Hanlon.

“No, no, you don’t need to drive up here. We’re already in the car, actually, so we’ll set a course towards you.”

“Alright. Awesome! I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.”

Goodbyes were exchanged, and Richie hung up.

“He said yes?” Stan asked, though he already seemed to know the answer.

“Yeah. He’ll watch her for us. As long as Mira and Maisie get along at least, but they will, right?” 

Stan just nodded. They had to, because Richie couldn’t think of any other options. The drive was relatively quiet, Richie mostly just watching Mira stick her head out the window and trying to ignore what was about to happen. 

The sensation he had upon re-entering Derry was a strange one, nostalgia hitting him hard as he recognized the streets and the town square, good and bad memories all rushing back at once. When Mike's family farm came into view, something in Richie's stomach twisted, knowing when they left it again, Mira was staying behind. Richie glanced over to see Stan frowning, just a bit. 

Both Mike and Bill were outside waiting, as well as Maisie, sitting by Mike's feet. They all watched as Mike told her to stay and she obeyed, the two of them walking up to Stan's car in greeting. Richie clipped Mira's leash to her collar before letting her out of the car, her nose to the ground immediately. 

“Wow!” Mike exclaimed, once hugs had all been exchanged. Maisie was still staying where she had been told, but was sniffing the air and looking at Mira with great interest. “She's what, only four months old? She's huge! She's nearly the size of my dog.”

“Yeah.” Richie grinned a little. “She's a big 'ol puppy. Want to introduce yourselves?” 

Richie held onto Mira's collar as Bill and Mike extended their hands in turn, but there was no need. Perhaps Mira could read the mood, because while she had been wary of their landlord she liked them both immediately, licking Bill's hands and leaning heavily against his legs so he could pet her longer when he tried to pull back. 

Then it was time to introduce the two dogs. Richie was nervous but didn't end up needing to be, Maisie’s obedience keeping her very calm during the entire exchange. Mira had never met another dog before, and she found the whole thing incredibly exciting, Mike promising to introduce the two to each other more thoroughly later as they brought Mira's things inside the house. 

They gave Mike the specifics, like how much to feed her and which toys were her favorite, Stan telling Mike to brush her every night. They stood around in the kitchen and talked for a little while, and though Richie loved Bill and Mike, it only really felt like postponing the inevitable. It was time to go back home, and figure out what the hell they were supposed to do.

Mike had to hold onto Mira as Stan and Richie got into the car without her. She began to struggle as they drove away, howling and tearing up the grass beneath her feet. Richie couldn't watch, but he could still hear her, a painful lump growing in his throat as Stan turned out onto the road. Tears burned at Richie's eyes until it hurt too much to keep them open and he took his glasses off, pressing the heels of his palms to his closed eyelids. It wasn't enough to stop the tears from coming but it muffled them, and Stan kept his eyes fixed on the road. The entire ride back was silent. 

It wasn’t until they were back home and had gone inside that Stan spoke. 

“Richie, why did you do that?” 

“What?” Richie found his voice to be hoarse, his throat slightly sore. 

“Why did you say that I had nothing to do with it? Why didn’t you let me get evicted?”

“Did you want to get kicked out?”

“Well no, but--”

“Then you’re welcome.” 

Richie started towards his bedroom, but Stan grabbed his arm. 

“I’m serious. Why?”

Richie let himself be stopped, standing with his back to the living room and meeting Stan’s eyes.

“I didn’t lie. She’s my dog. I’m the one that found her, and wanted to keep her. My phone number is on her collar, my name is on her vet bills. You didn’t want her, and I wasn’t going to let you get kicked out just because of me.” 

“Didn’t want her…” Stan sighed a little bit, dropping his grip on Richie’s arm. “Richie, do you think it hurt any less for me than it did for you to leave her behind like that?”

“Yeah, actually. I do.” Richie said, watching as Stan’s jaw clenched. 

“What?”

“Come on, Stan! You didn’t want to bring her home. You didn’t even want to pay for her hospital bills.” 

Stan took a step backwards, a humorless, slightly disbelieving laugh falling from his lips.

“But I did! I helped you pay for her. I helped raise her. Damnit, Richie, I'm not fucking heartless! Do you really think I don't love this dog?”

“Well, you don't act like it.” That wasn't true, and Richie knew it, but he didn't care. Not when his chest hurt this much. Stan shook his head, looking at his feet before his eyes went back up to Richie's face.

“I… Do you have any idea how many offers I turned down over that Craigslist ad? People that wanted to take her?”

Richie swallowed. “I thought… I thought nobody offered. That’s what you told me.”

“Twenty-six! Twenty-six people! I told myself at first that the people just didn’t seem right, or they lived too far away, but it got to a point where perfectly fine families were offering to adopt her and I still turned them down. I just started ignoring them altogether. I didn't try to find the ad and delete it because I'm terrified, because I don't have any idea how we're going to take care of her ourselves, but I love her, Richie. I want to keep her too.” 

Richie didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. But he still felt that he'd made the right choice, a part of him also sure that even if the situation had been the other way around, he'd have taken the fall for Stan anyway.

“She still… It was still my fault. So I'm going to move out. Yes, I am--” Richie insisted, because Stan had begun to open his mouth again “--and you'll get a new roommate, probably some fancy guy named Westley or some shit who doesn't annoy you, and doesn't leave his shoes in the living room for you to trip over, and he'll be super smart and be able to properly tutor you in math, and I'll take myself and my hairy, drooly, huge, expensive dog--”

"Would you, fucking... Would you fucking shut up for a second?” 

Stan sounded surprisingly angry, his eyes alight with indignation, and Richie stopped completely, staring at Stan, who let out a fast breath through his nose. His lips were set in a firm line.

"Fucking hell, Richie. There was a time where I didn't want her, and if you would stop throwing that in my fucking face, I would appreciate it. It doesn't apply anymore. It doesn't matter." 

Richie wasn't sure he agreed with that, but he didn't interrupt. His fingers began to tap unevenly against his thighs.

"But..." Stan's frustration was rising again and he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, moving them, clenching and unclenching his fingers. "Damn it, Richie. I don't want a new roommate. Just because there was a time that I didn't want Mira doesn't mean I ever, ever didn't want you. I've always fucking wanted you." 

Silence rang between them, Stan’s chest heaving as he let out a breath. There was a desperately defiant look in his eyes, his cheeks flushed as he stared Richie down, and everything about him was so beautiful that Richie’s self-control crumbled. He took three fast steps forwards, one hand on the back of Stan's neck, pressing their lips together.

Richie had envisioned his first kiss with Stan so many times that he figured he knew exactly how it would go. He would kiss him hard, rough and breathless and perfect, all of the wants and desires he'd held in throughout the years finally able to come through the way he wanted. It wasn't exactly like that.

Stan was tense from their argument, his lips stiff and still, his hands coming instinctively to Richie's chest, almost to push him away. Richie hesitated, pulling back until Stan's hands stopped him, sliding up to wind their way around Richie's neck and bring him closer. 

Stan had him then, his fingers curling, his mouth falling open easily, kissing and pulling and breathing him in. Stan started to push him back once, then twice, only to go weak both times and simply knead his fingers on Richie's neck and the base of his scalp, holding tight to keep him where he was, and Richie kissed him back with everything he had. He couldn't breathe; he could barely even think, but in that moment there was nothing he'd rather be doing, or even thinking about, than Stan.

Stan finally pulled back, sighing against his lips, and as much as Richie wanted to kiss him again, and wanted to kiss him forever, he didn't move. 

“I, um…” Stan swallowed. They weren't usually this close; it was intoxicating. “I've been wanting to do that for a while.” 

Richie groaned. “Please tell me you're joking.”

“What?” Stan pulled back slightly, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Because… Fuck. So have I.” Richie said, able to see a small smile on Stan's lips before he pulled Richie's face to his again. 

The knowledge that both of them wanted this, and had wanted it for some time, seemed to drive all the hesitance from Stan's body. One of his hands cupped Richie's cheek, the other pulling him closer by the waist, his entire body arching to press against Richie's own. Richie’s hands found the small of Stan’s back, looping his arms around to rest there, kissing him, holding him close.

Stan teeth found Richie’s bottom lip, biting down gently, the action teasing, and in response Richie let his hands travel a little lower, checking an item off his Stanley Bucket List as he slid his hands into the back pockets of Stan’s jeans. The sound Stan made sent blood rushing to places other than Richie’s head, and he instantly wanted to hear that noise again, moving his kisses from Stan’s mouth to his jaw, then his neck. The action was well rewarded, Stan’s groan vibrating the skin under Richie’s lips, but he placed a hand on Richie’s chest, giving him a gentle push.

“Stan?”

“We… Should sit, or something.” Stan said, Richie hoping that Stan didn’t want to stop and have a talk about this, about them, right now. “My legs, my knees are a bit…”

Oh. The knowledge that he was making Stan go weak in the knees was more than enough reason to set his request in motion, Richie taking him by the hand, unwilling to stop touching him, toeing off his shoes on their way to the couch. He sat first and Stan fell easily into his lap, making it all too easy for Richie to continue kissing trails up and down his neck. 

A nip at his collarbone had Stan’s hips jerking, Richie inhaling sharply. The action seemed to have been involuntary, Stan pressing his face into Richie’s shoulder and murmuring out an apology.

“If you’re actually apologizing instead of doing that again I swear--” Richie started, but he didn’t get to finish, Stan having already guessed the end of his sentence. His breath was warm against Richie’s neck. 

“Richie?” 

“What?”

“Kiss me.” 

Richie couldn’t comply fast enough. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! the final chapter. I hoped everyone enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! thank you for all your kudos and comments, it really means a lot ♡ Until next time!!

The first thing Richie registered when he opened his eyes was that he didn’t have a shirt on. A close second was the simple fact that he wasn’t in his own room, a smile splitting his face as he took in the carefully stacked books and organized binders on Stan’s desk. The space in the bed next to him was empty but Richie didn’t mind, pulling himself up and putting on his glasses, not bothering to look for his shirt and padding into the kitchen in nothing but his pajama pants.

Stan was in the kitchen, his back to Richie, a mug in one hand. He placed it under their Keurig and pressed a button, Richie coming up behind him and wrapping his arms around Stan's torso, resting his chin on Stan's shoulder.

“Good morning.” He mumbled.

“It’s almost noon.” Stan responded, a smile in his voice. He turned his head a bit, and sure enough, there was a grin on his lips. A rush of affection filled Richie’s chest, and he had to kiss him.

“Almost.” He pointed out when he drew back. “So it’s still morning, right?”

“Fine.” Stan shook his head a little, retrieving his now-full coffee mug and turning around so they were facing each other, holding the coffee up to his lips and blowing on it a little. “Good morning, Richie.”

But Richie wasn’t really paying attention to his words, his eyes caught on the large red and purple bruise to the right of Stan’s adam’s apple. In spite of himself, he felt a blush rising to his face.

“What?” Stan asked him after a moment.

“Have… Have you looked in the mirror yet today?”

“No, why?” Stan picked his phone up from the counter, opening the front-facing camera. When he saw the hickey, he swallowed. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Richie considered apologizing when to his surprise, Stan began to grin, then laugh.

“Oh man, Bev’s going to have a field day.”

“We can tell them?”

Stan looked incredibly surprised by the question.

“I… I just figured that you already had, to be honest.” He confessed. Richie shook his head.

“Nah. You’re Stan, and you like to talk about stuff. So I figured you would want to talk about this first.”

Stan smiled again. “Okay. What should we talk about?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.”

Stan raised his eyebrows, taking a sip from his coffee before placing it down on the counter and crossing his arms.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You know, stuff like how much you love me, how much you want to date me, how good I am at--”

“Stop, fuck.” Stan shoved Richie’s chest but Richie caught his hand, pulling him forward. Stan’s lips met his easily, Richie reveling in how Stan relaxed in his arms. He tried to pull away but Stan didn’t let him, his hands tugging at Richie’s hips to keep him close.

“I thought we were going to talk.” Richie murmured against his lips.

“Maybe I like it better when you use your mouth for other things.”

“Oh my god, it is too early in the morning for you to be saying stuff like that to me.” Richie let his hands slip under Stan’s shirt, about to lower his lips to Stan’s neck when Stan leaned away.

“Wait, wait. I cannot let you make that hickey worse.” He said, beginning to pull back, and Richie whined.

“But--”

“If my coffee gets cold, I will kill you.”

“Fine.” Richie let him go, Stan picking his drink back up, offering to make Richie some.

“Nah. I like you better. Though you just make me want to go back to bed.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but he grinned. He was holding his coffee mug in both hands, rubbing his index finger across the side of the ceramic, his expression growing more and more serious until he finally spoke.

“So, what are we?” He asked. “Are we dating, or…?” He left the question open-ended. Richie shrugged.

“I mean, I hope so. I have been pining after you for a while now.”

Stan blinked at him. “Seriously? But this is our second year living together. Didn’t you ever want to… I don’t know, make some kind of a pass at me?”

“Dude. I’ve made so many.”

Stan thought back, Richie watching him, completely endeared for a moment by the way his eyebrows drew together.

“Okay, making BDSM jokes at the pet store and licking my face do not count.” Stan said, and Richie’s mouth fell open in mock indignance.

“Yes they do! I don’t know, Stan. This relationship might not work if we don’t understand each other.”

“A shame, truly. You’re pretty cute.”

Richie wasn’t expecting the compliment at all, and could feel his face beginning to burn. Stan took another sip of coffee, but Richie could tell by his cheeks that behind the mug, there was a smile on his lips.

“So… Can I scream from the rooftops that we’re dating? Because I kind of really want to.” Richie asked. Stan shrugged a little.

“Don’t come crying to me if you get a noise complaint.” He said, and Richie beamed. He pulled his phone out, flopping onto the couch, Stan sitting down next to him.

_To: Lavagirl  
Guess who got to give Stanley Uris the sexiest hickey you have ever seen in your life last night _

The response took a couple of minutes, but it was about as explosive as he expected.

_From: Lavagirl_   
_RICHIE WHAT THE FUCK_   
_WHAT_   
_THE_   
_FUCK_   
_It had better have been you bc I don’t have enough money to help you hire that hitman you wanted_

_To: Lavagirl  
;) _

_From: Lavagirl_   
_WTF MAN WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TEXT ME WHILE I’M IN CLASS i wanna call you so bad_   
_Did you guys like… get it on? was it amazing?_

_To: Lavagirl  
Bev please stan’s sitting right next to me on the couch _

_From: Lavagirl  
And does he know what I’ve been telling you to make a move for like half a year now? _

That message was slightly incriminating, Stan pulling Richie’s phone from his hand.

“You two talk about me?” He asked, scrolling quickly through the messages. “You sent her a picture of me sleeping?”

Richie simply shrugged, a concerning thought suddenly striking him.

“Is this… Is this going to make things weird?”

“Things?” Stan glanced up from his phone to look at him. “What things?”

“Like… Living together. Couples don’t normally do that, right? They date first, and then move in, and we haven’t even gone on a date yet. I know you like doing things the right way.”

Stan let Richie’s phone fall into his lap.

“I mean, sure, I like doing things the right way. It makes everything easier, at work or in school or something. But if I was trying to make my life easier, I wouldn’t have even fallen for you in the first place.”

As soon as the words sunk in, Richie all but jumped him, Stan making a muffled noise of surprise against his lips.

“That was meant to be an insult.” Stan murmured, Richie humming in acknowledgement as he kissed a trail down Stan’s neck.

“Hm. Don’t care.”

“Really? Then I wonder what a compliment would get me.”

“Try it and find out.”

Fifteen minutes later, Richie was well ready to pull Stan’s shirt over his head--because really, the troublesome piece of fabric was bunched up under Stan's arms and just needed to go--when Stan pulled away from him, flushed pink all the way down his chest, his lips red-kissed and wet.

“We can’t do this right now.” He insisted as he tugged his shirt back down, though he didn’t sound very convincing, and that had Richie grinning a bit. “We have work later, we need to be studying for finals, Mira--”

At the mention of Mira, Richie paused. He hadn’t forgotten about her, not at all, but he’d wanted to enjoy the rest of what was happening to the fullest, putting the matter temporarily to the back of his mind. He sighed, falling against the couch.

“Well, I’m leaving.” Richie said. “Moving out. I have to. But you should stay here. It’s a good spot, close to campus and work. It would be really stupid for you to go.”

Stan sighed too. “Where will you go, though?”

Richie shrugged. He’d have to find somewhere close by that was also pet-friendly. That couldn’t be too hard.

As he found out over the next few days though, it was near impossible. There were a few places, but they were ten miles or so away from campus, something that just wouldn’t work. Richie hated not having a car. He vented his frustrations to Stan as he started packing up his stuff, who frowned.

“Listen, Richie… I had an idea. Don’t get mad at me, though.”

“Why would I get mad?” Richie asked. Stan sat down on his bed. He looked a little nervous.

“I don’t like it, and I know you won’t like it either, but… What if Mira stayed with Mike for a semester?”

The words took a moment to register in Richie’s brain.

“...what?”

“Only if he lets her, of course. But think about it! Nowhere near enough for you to walk has pet-friendly housing. What if you found somewhere nearby, spent the semester saving up, and got yourself a car?”

Richie hated the idea. He hated the idea immediately, recoiling as though it were a snake about to bite him. Over the past few days he had missed Mira more than he’d thought it possible to miss anything, staring wistfully at some balls of fur she’d left behind. Mike had been texting them updates, usually with pictures, and by the looks of things she was doing fine. But still; the apartment was too quiet without her playful growling, his bed too empty, even during the few times he’d had Stan in it with him.

All the same, Richie couldn’t call Stan’s idea a bad one. Stan didn’t have bad ideas. It was the logical, more responsible thing to do, but logic and responsibility weren’t ever forefront in Richie’s mind when he was plotting a course of action. But he told himself that it wouldn’t hurt to see if it was viable option, sending a text to Mike.

_To: Black Lightning  
How’s my babygirl? _

_From: Black Lightning  
She’s alright! Look! I found the rabbit head in the bottom of your duffle bag and sewed the toy back together. _

Mike had attached a picture. Mira was asleep, one huge paw resting over her favorite stuffed animal, where sure enough, the headless rabbit was headless no more. A shoe Richie recognized as Bill’s was in the corner of the photo, but Richie didn’t have time to ponder that, too caught up in looking at his puppy’s sleeping face. His chest ached so badly he thought he might cry, and he knew that he couldn’t leave Mira at Mike’s for an entire semester, no matter what.

_To: Black Lightning  
Hey, can I ask you a crazy question? _

_From: Black Lightning  
I’m intrigued. Hit me _

_To: Black Lightning  
I’m having a really hard time finding a pet-friendly place near campus to live with Mira. As a last resort, if nothing comes up, would it be entirely out of the question for me to come and live with you? _

Mike didn’t respond for nearly fifteen minutes.

_From: Black Lightning  
Rich, are you sure? That would mean dropping out of school. _

_To: Black Lightning  
Sure, but I could go to the community college with you and Bill maybe _

Another long silence.

_From: Black Lightning  
If that’s what you want to do, then yeah, sure. I’ll always be here to support you, Richie _

_To: Black Lightning  
You’re the best, man. Seriously. _

Stan was much, much less supportive of the idea. In retrospect, Richie realized that he probably shouldn’t have broken the news to Stan while they were cuddled on the couch together; Stan jerked up to look at his face, his elbow connecting hard with Richie’s groin.

“What the hell?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Richie gasped, bending forwards. Stan wasn't apologetic in the slightest.

“Richie, you can't do that. You can't just drop out of college and live on a farm.”

“I can, and it's looking like I might have to!” Richie had to breathe for a moment before continuing. “You know me, Stan. Between Mira being at Mike's alone or me moving in with him, which is the one that I would choose?”

Stan realized he was right, but didn't give him the satisfaction of choosing the right answer.

“So what, you're just going to drop out of school because you can't live with your dog?”

Richie hoped the question wasn't meant as harshly as it sounded.

“No, I'm not dropping out. I'll just go to the community college with Bill and Mike. They probably have some four year degrees there.”

“In what, History and English Literature or some bullshit like that?”

“Does it matter?” Richie resisted the urge to throw his hands up. “I should be good as long as I major in something, right? Isn't that what they always tell us, to just get a degree? I didn't know what I was going to do with Chemistry, anyway.”

“It does matter, Richie. It matters because I know you, and I know that if you don't care about something, you won't put any effort into it. And you don't give a shit about History. You’ll just drop out.” There was venom in Stan's voice and Richie sat up a little straighter, leaning away from his boyfriend on the couch.

“Fine! I'll just take some time off and save up money like you said. Then I'll come back. Why are you so fucking pissed off about this?”

“Because I care about you!” Stan didn't even blush, his face serious, frowning, and Richie felt taken aback. “Richie, you’d have to reapply, and the school won’t give you as much scholarship money again. You wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“Well fuck, Stan? What am I supposed to do?”

They sat silently together for a moment, Stan letting out a long breath.

“I don’t know. I just know that I watched you work so hard in high school to get those scholarships and get out of Derry all on your own. I don’t want to let you just… I don’t know, throw it all away like this.”

“Stan, you’re not going to ‘let’ me do anything.” Richie got to his feet, pulling on his shoes. He needed to take a walk, hating the look on Stan’s face and turning away. “It’s not up to you.”

Richie paused for a moment at the door, but when Stan didn’t say anything, Richie walked out.

There didn’t seem to be any other way. After his last final exam Richie began packing up his clothes, needing to be out of the apartment by the end of tomorrow. Stan sat on his bed, watching quietly.

“Hey, Richie?” He asked, Richie throwing rumpled shirts from his dresser onto his bed, intending to fold them. But Stan’s voice made him pause, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Are we okay?”

Richie frowned, walking over. He reached out with his hands, and Stan took them.

“Okay? What do you mean?”

“Like… Our relationship.”

“I think so.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Things had been a little off since the argument they’d had on the couch. Not enough to stop kisses or sharing meals, with the regular banter and stupid jokes. That was all happening, sure, but things felt slightly fractured. Richie had still stared at Stan more than his textbooks as they’d studied for their finals together, but he felt that no amount of arguments could change that from happening.

Stan knew that his answer wasn’t entirely truthful, Richie could tell that much by his face, but he took a deep breath anyway. He was taking Richie’s words at face value.

“Okay. Because there’s something I need to tell you.”

“...gonna be honest here, Stanley. You’re kinda freaking me out.” Richie said, and Stan entwined their fingers together, swinging their arms slightly.

“Ben, Beverly, and I have… We’ve been doing something.”

“Planning? Plotting? Scheming behind my back?”

It was a joke, but Stan didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, actually.”

“...what?”

“Well, I told them about what you were going to do, and they’d been talking about moving out of their apartment and renting a house instead, but it was too expensive for just two people. So… We started looking at houses together.”

Richie blinked once. Twice.

“...what?” He repeated dumbly.

“We were looking at houses.” Stan said again. “And we had a price range figured out, and we only looked at listings within a certain distance, and… We found one.”

Richie felt his mouth fall open.

“You don’t have to say yes.” Stan said immediately. “This is like… Creepy, honestly, me asking you if you want to move into a house so soon, but… It’s closer to work than our apartment, and it’s a little further from campus but Beverly and Ben would be there too, so as long as we coordinate our schedules someone could drive you. It’s small, really small, but it has a big backyard, and there are no pet restrictions, so--”

“Yes.” Richie breathed, using their entwined hands to push Stan down onto the bed, covering his face with kisses. Stan squirmed, unable to bat him away, but there was a smile on his face, and Richie didn’t stop until Stan began to laugh.

“Richie! Richie, I’m not done.” He insisted, and Richie, now straddling Stan’s hips with his knees, sat back on Stan’s thighs. He didn’t let go of his hands, though.

“It’s a small house.” Stan said, a point he’d already mentioned twice. Richie shrugged.

“I know small. I’ve pulled down your pants.”

“Fuck you.” Stan said, and Richie stuck out his tongue. “I’m serious. There are only two bedrooms in it.”

“So?”

“So we’d have to share a room.”

“Sounds like a win to me.”

“But we’ve barely been dating a week, it’s--”

“Stan.” Richie waited until Stan met his eyes. “You’re nervous. I get it. I can already tell that I’m going to annoy the hell out of you, and we’re going to need space from each other that this house isn’t going to have, but it’s going to be okay. Nothing you can say is going to make me change my mind. If you wanted to get rid of me, you missed your chance.”

“Damn, really?” Stan asked, a smile growing on his face that Richie couldn’t help but return. “You’re not going anywhere?”

“Fuck no. You’re stuck with me, Uris.”

Stan took advantage of their hands this time, pulling Richie down, kissing him long and slow and perfect.

“Good.” He murmured.

Richie melted into the mattress with him, and packing was put on hold for the rest of the day.

  
  


_To: Flying Spaghetti Monster  
Are you coming or what? Without your supple body and ferociously gay attitude this wouldn’t be a party _

_From: Flying Spaghetti Monster_   
_Shut up ur so fucking weird_   
_I’m on my way, nobody wanted to pick me up from the airport so i had to uber I’m almost there like 20 minutes tops_   
_You all suck btw i hate smalltalk with strangers_   
_This guy won’t stop asking me about my rainbow backpack like yes??? I’m gay??? Get over it????_

Richie laughed, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Eds is on his way.” He reported. “He says we all suck.”

Stan, Beverly, and Ben all groaned in unison. It was two days later, and they were trying to move all of their belongings, packed up in their respective cars, into their new house.

True to Stan's word, the dwelling was small. It had all of the essentials: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, a living room, a garage, and a big backyard. Rent was roughly the same as their apartments had been when it was split four ways, so they were getting less bang for their buck, but Richie didn't care. He loved it.

“Bill says he and Mike are about ten minutes away.” Stan reported, his phone in his hand too. “They're in Mike's truck, and they're bringing all that furniture you bought, Beverly.”

“They're the best.” Beverly said, the words coming out a little less appreciative than she probably intended, as she was straining under a box labeled “Ben's Pots and Pans”. Ben hurried forwards to help her with it, Stan turning to Richie with a smile.

“They're bringing Mira, too.”

“They'd better be.” Richie bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, unable to keep still. “God, Stan, she's going to have grown. She's going to be bigger than when we last saw her. What if we missed something?”

“Like what?” Stan asked, raising an eyebrow. “Baby's first words?”

“Maybe.” Richie fretted. “Mike's a really good dog trainer, maybe he taught her to speak or something.”

Stan rolled his eyes and laughed. Eight minutes later Mike's truck rolled up, second hand furniture tied down to the bed. Bill opened the passenger side door and Mira leapt out, running at Richie at full speed. The collision was a little painful, and it hurt a bit more when Richie lost his balance and his back hit the dirt but he didn't even care, petting Mira everywhere he could reach as she wagged and barked, crawling all over him.

“Yeah girl, I missed you too.” Richie told her, his face thoroughly slobbered on when Stan's voice interrupted, calling Mira's name softly. They both looked up, Richie's duffle bag at Stan's feet, leaning forwards and reaching towards her. Mira bounded over, her tail wagging wildly, jumping up onto her back legs and licking all over Stan's face.

“Damn, this is the happiest I've ever seen her.” Mike remarked, Bill walking over to help Richie to his feet. “She's done a lot of laying around.”

“Really?” Richie frowned, Mira barrelling into his legs and nearly knocking off his feet again. Richie flailed his arms in a less than dignified way until Bill steadied him. “I thought you said she was okay.”

“She was really sweet.” Bill said. “B-but she didn't run around a lot. She kinda just looked down the street out the window.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Richie demanded.

“She wasn't sad all the time!” Mike said quickly, Mira rushing over to get attention from Stan again. “I played with her, and I brushed her. Even Maisie got her to play sometimes. Come on Richie, I wasn't about to tell you that your dog loved you so much that looking at her made me depressed.”

Richie supposed that was fair, though he made a vow then and there never to leave Mira ever again. An unfamiliar car drove up, and after a moment Eddie hopped out, bag slung over his shoulder. Caught up in all the excitement, Mira ran at him. Richie had never known Eddie to be afraid of dogs, but he made this hilarious squeaking noise anyway, startled when she jumped up on him.

“Mira!” Stan reprimanded, and she got down, but didn't look too apologetic. Richie ran forwards, but not to discipline his dog; it had been way too long since he'd last seen Eddie, scooping him up and spinning him around.

“Fuck, give a guy a moment to breathe, will you?” Eddie asked. Richie beamed.

“I missed you, Spaghetti Man.”

“I have a phone! I have a computer, we could Skype--”

“You missed me too. Say it.”

“Fine!” Eddie grinned, and Richie set him back down. “I missed you too.”

Ben and Beverly came back outside, also getting greetings from Mira, seeing the newcomers and hugging everyone. After Eddie was also formally introduced to Mira, they began the actual process of cleaning up the rental house and moving their stuff in.

It would have been a tedious process, but it had been so long since they'd all been together, and Richie loved them and had missed them so much, that just being around them all made the day incredibly fun. They finished up as the sun was setting but none of the visitors wanted to go just yet, and the rest didn't want them to leave, so they decided to stay a while for dinner. Bill ordered pizza for everyone, much to Stan's disdain, though he didn't complain about it.

“Hey, you sure about this?” Richie asked Ben, approaching his friend, who was waiting patiently with a paper plate to get his food. Richie already had three slices piled onto his plate. He nodded towards his dog, who was begging for pizza at Eddie's feet until Stan noticed her and told her off.

“Richie, this was my idea.” Ben told him. “Yeah. I'm sure.”

Richie wished very desperately then that there was some way he could show his friends how much he loved them, like doing some fancy interpretive dance or giving them each a million dollars. Well, maybe he could get that dance choreographed. Just not with the pizza in his hand.

He sat down on the floor, spreading his legs out in case Mira wanted to lay in his lap. Mira laid next to him instead, resting her head on his leg, and to his surprise Stan came over to him.

“If you get pizza in my hair I will kill you.” He said, then sat down, his head resting lightly against Richie's chest. Though Richie had told them all about the relationship, Bill, Mike, and Eddie hadn't yet seen it in action, and all of them stared.

“Don't call them cute.” Beverly said. “They're not cute. They're gross! I saw Stan bite Richie's ear yesterday. In the kitchen. At nine in the morning! They're shameless.”

Richie had to grin, a bit surprised to see that Stan was grinning too.

“What, you three lonely?” Richie asked, because they were still being stared at.  He nudged Eddie, who was sitting next to him, but up on the couch. “No good guys in the Big Apple?”

“I mean, I've had a couple of flings I guess.” Eddie said with a shrug. “Nothing serious though.”

“Wait, flings? You?” Richie couldn't hide his surprise. Eddie frowned at him.

“Is it really that unbelievable to think that guys would be interested in me?” He asked.

“Nah Eds, you're cute! You know I think you're cute. You just don't seem to be the type to go around and suck face with strange men.”

“Don't say it like that.” Eddie protested. “It's not middle school anymore. I'm over the whole ‘spit is gross’ thing.”

“Yeah?” Richie smirked, leaning over and licking the closest part of Eddie that he could reach, which was his shin. Eddie yelled and the group laughed, watching him jump up and wipe his leg on the closest available surface, which was Bill. Bill looked slightly affronted.

“Okay, only the spit from hot guys.” Eddie amended.

“I'm hot!” Richie protested, looking indignantly at Stan for backup.

“You have pizza sauce on your face.” Stan deadpanned.

“Does that not make me more desirable?”

“Maybe Eddie will find true love on the road.” Mike interjected. “Now that we're all together, we need to talk about The Road Trip. Bill and I have been talking and we have a bunch of ideas.”

The topic was agreed on easily, everyone turning their attention to Bill as he began speaking. They carried on in this vein well into the night, until Ben started falling asleep on Beverly's shoulder. Mike was planning on driving home with Bill and Eddie, but Stan and Richie insisted that it was much too late, setting up pillows and blankets on the living room floor for the three of them; they'd all planned on meeting up the next day anyway, since it was summer break now and Eddie was staying in Maine for at least a week. The whole thing had the familiar feel of an old middle school sleepover to it, and it made Richie smile.

When Stan and Richie got into their bedroom Mira was already on their bed, curled up at the foot of it, sound asleep. They changed into pajamas and slipped under the covers as quietly as they could, unwilling to disturb her. Stan curled close to him.

“Well, we're here.” He said. Richie nodded.

“Yeah, we are. I keep wanting to pinch myself, to make sure I'm not actually asleep or something.”

“Really?” Stan glanced up at him. “Would this be a daydream, or a nightmare?”

“Are you kidding me? Look who I'm in bed with. Daydream, definitely.”

Stan smiled, leaning in to kiss him. They kissed quietly, softly, drawing in closer to each other. They were both tired from the long day of work and all the excitement, but Richie was more than content to simply snuggle with his boyfriend and go to sleep. With Stan wrapped in his arms and Mira at his feet, Richie began to doze off, surrounded by more love than he'd ever felt before.


End file.
